In' on the vine; And the cornstalks, turnin' yaller and a-crinklin' up
their leaves, Look as if they kind er hankered ter be bundled inter
sheaves; And there's beamin', streamin' brightness jest a-gildin' all
the place, And yer somehow seem ter feel it in yer heart and in yer
face. Now the crowd of cranb'r'y pickers, every mornin' as they pass,
Makes a feller think of turkey, with the usual kind of sass, Till a
roguish face a-smilin' 'neath a bunnit or a hat, Makes him stop and
think of somethin' that's a good deal sweeter 'n that; And the lightsome
girlish figger trippin', skippin' down the lane, Kills his mem'ry full
of sunshine, but it's sunshine mixed with rain,-- For, yer see, it sets
him dreamin' of Septembers that he knew When _he_ went a cranb'r'y
pickin' and a girl went with him, too. Oh, the cool September mornin's,
why, their freshness seems ter roll Like a wave of life a-liftin' up yer
everlastin' soul, And the earth and all that's on it seems a-bustin'
inter rhyme So's ter sing a big thanksgivin' fer the comin'
harvest-time; And I want ter jine the chorus and ter tell 'em fur and
near That I hain't got wealth nor beauty, but I'm mighty glad I'm here;
That I'm getting old and wrinkled, like the husks around the corn, But
Get latest updates about Open Source Projects, Conferences and News.