| Down a Country Lane |
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| Wasn't it pleasant, brother of mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth - when Saturday's chores were through, And the Sunday's wood in the kitchen, too, And we went visiting, me and you, Out to Old Aunt Mary's? It all comes back so clear today, Though I am as bald as you are gray - Out by the barn, and down the lane, We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of rain, Out to Old Aunt Mary's. We cross the pasture, and through the wood, Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood, To the honeysuckle lane, with sunshine spread As thick as butter on country bread, Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead, Out to Old Aunt Mary's. Why, I see her now in the open door, Where the gourds grew up the sides, and o'er The clapboard roof - and her face - ah, me! Wasn't it good for a boy to see, And wasn't it good for a boy to be Out to Old Aunt Mary's? The jelly, the jam and the marmalade, And the apple and pumpkin butters she made. And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, With cinnamon in them, and all things rare - And the more we ate, was the more to spare! Out to Old Aunt Mary's. -- James Whitcomb Riley |
| Photos on this page are courtesy of Kepguru; Flickr Creative Commons & jheffner; jcbwalsh; cjuneau; lizwest |
