The Cricket (In The Fashion Of Robert Burns) Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

T’was the early days of Autum
An frost lay heavy on the fields
While in th’ house t’was snug an’ warm
With th’ smell of the blazn’ fire fillin’ us with good cher.

Later, th’ fire was banked
With the rattlin’ of the door and window
We ws little concerned
As fer th’ North wind; let it blow.

In the fireplace, the embers were a’glow
An’ me and wifie in our bed were there to enjoy the show
That filled the room with lights and shadows
As we snuggled in th’ comforter’s downfill’d tow.

Asleep were I when I heard it
The distinct chirping of the cricket.
“Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et”
It said as it likewise enjoyed the warmth.

“Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et”
He said again, and again
I thinks. how nice it is to listen
To him singing his song.

Afore much time had pass’t
And would like I to again be in my sleep
But, Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et
He sang his happy song, nev’r missing a beat.

So thought I maybe I should hush him
And send him along
But knowin’ he’d return agin
And continue his damning song.

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et

Put I my warm feet on the cold floor’s stone
An picked up m’ shoe
For which, I’d send him along
To the heaven (or hell) which was his due.

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et

How to dispatch him me thinks
I would have to crawl along
So’s I could smash him in a wink
Before he continued his unflagging song.

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et

On all fours, like a weanin’
With shoe held in my hand
I started to approach him
Was my carefully thoughtout plan.

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et

But I soon discovered my night gown
Cauth my knees and held them fast
So I cudn’t move along.
Toward the cricket, uttering another iricksome blast.

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et

I raised me gown up and o’er my back
I placed it high, and there it wold stay
As I planned my attack
As silently I crawled along th’ way

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et

Dispatch was all I had in mind,
To end his ceaseless chirping
And he replied in kind
With another round most irritating

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et.

Then behind me I heard a snickern’,
Then a giggle and a roar
Th’ laughter was a’hooting
The mirth was like none I’d heard afore.

Crick-et, Crick-et, Crick-et

For there wifie sat a bedin’
That shook when she roared with no care
“What a sight to be seen, the “bulls” cods are swinging
In the firelight as exposed to the even’ air.”

Crick-et, crick

s