POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2287, 1 August 1881, Page 4

POETRY.

JOSIAE. Things has come to a pretty pass The whole wide country over, When every married woman has To have a friend or lover ; It ain’t the way that I was raised, An’ I hain’t no desire To have some feller pokin’ round Instead of my Josiar. I never kin forget the day That wo went out a walkin’ An’ sot down on the river bank An’ kep’ on hours a talkin’: He twisted up my apron string An’ folded it together, An’ said he thought for harvest time 'lwas our’us kind o’ weather. The sun went down as we sot there— Josiar seemed uneasy; An’ mother she began to call; “Loweezy ! oh, Loweezy ! ” An’ then Josiar spoke right up, As I was just a startin’, An’ said, “Loweezy, what’s the use Of us two ever partin’ ? ” It kind o’ took me by surprise, An’ yeti knew 'twas cornin’— I’d heard it all the summer long, la every wild bee’s hummin’ j I’d studied out the way I’d act, But, law ! I couldn’t de it ; I meant to hide my love from him, But seems as if he knew it. An’ lookin’ down into my eyes He must a seen the fire. And ever since that hour I’ve loved An’ worshipped my Josiar. I can’t tell what the women mean Who let men fool around ’em, Believin’ all the nonsense that They only say to sound ’em ; I know, for one, I’ve never seen The man that I’d admire. To have a bangin’ after me, Instead of my Josiar. —“Evening Post,’’