Robert Kirkland Kernighan

(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

Bushed - Poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

' Weariness can snore upon the flint,
While rusty sloth finds the down pillow hard.'

Shakespeare.

It 's Saturday night ! I 'm tired, rather :

I ve finished the job and had my supper ;
The team's tired, too : they were all in a lather ;

But now they 're free from the bit and crupper ;
I worked them an hour past quittin time

You see I wanted to finish the job
It was n't fair, and I felt it a crime,

When I heard the old mare sigh an sob ;

But she plodded on nothing will stick her

Willin as ever to hear the call ;
But she bit her mate, and gave a nicker

As soon as she heard the trace chains fall ;
But now they 're down in the beaver grasses,

Up to their bellies in blooming feed,
While over their heads the night-hawk passes,

And Dolly and Dan are glad indeed !

I 'm tired to-night ! It 's weary walkin
Behind the plow from morn till eve ;

I hear the wimmin folks, inside, talkin
I 'd ruther sleep, I do believe

That, I fancy, will serve my turn :
I 'll wash my feet and soak my head,


'N drink some buttermilk outen the churn ;
Then wind the clock, an I 'm off to bed.

That buttermilk 's good ! it 's eaten an drinkin !

It freshens one up an cools the mouth
There 's bushels uv whip o wills out, I 'm thinkin,

Whoopin away sure sign uv a drouth.
A sprinkle uv rain would n't hurt the pertaters ;

The frogs is singing the Canady reel ;
They haint got toons like that in theayters

By jing ! ef I hevnt blistered my heel !

There 's some uv the neighbors callin on Min

Swappin their little hopes and cares ;
Like 's not they 'll probly call me in

I 'll quietly mosy along up-stairs !
I 'll sleep like a chicken shet up in a coop ;

Then, at the earliest streak of light,
I 'll stand in my shirt tail out on the stoop

An see that everything 's safe an right.

The bed aint hard, ner yet aint narrow :

And O ! the pillows are cool an white,
An I could sleep on a rough wheel-barrow,

An never roll over, this blessed night !
To-morrow is Sunday ! To-night is peace !

I hope thet dog aint after the sheep :
There's somethin frightened them pesky
geese ;

I 'm falling falling falling asleep !


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Poem Submitted: Friday, May 18, 2012



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