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IN TROUBLE I looked out of the winder yisterday And seen the trees, big trees across the way, And buds was on 'em; yes, sir, big buds, too; It seemed to me almost like they had grew In just one night; and a bird come along And hopped up on a branch and singed a song About somethin' that pleased him; maybe he Could see right through the winder an' see me A-Iayin' here all stiff an' straight in bed With the white piller underneath my head; I like to think perhaps he could, an' he Was singin' of the song he singed for me. When I git strong an' git outdoors to play I'm gonna throw my shootin' gun away, And never shoot at singin' birds no more; I wish that I could ist sit in the door In a big chair, a piller in behind; It doesn't seem to me like I would mind A-bein' sick if I could ist do that; An' p'raps the kids would come where I was at, An' maybe they would set awhile an' talk, Or go a-skatin' up an' down the walk; An' I might see the vi'lets out-of-doors, Or, from the back door, dad a-doin' chores. I git so tired o' wishin' I was well! But it don't do no good. No one can't tell-- Leastways when I asked mother yisterday She looked at dad an' me an' turned away, With her mouth sort of twisted like, an' he Put his arm 'neath my head an' kneeled by me, An' started in a-tellin' of the time When he was ist a kid an' used to climb Up trees an' go a-swimmin' in the crick, Like what I used to do 'fore I got sick; Them is the stories I like best of all; The things my daddy done when he was small. When I waked up last night, like what I do Since I've been sick, an' I reached out an' drew The cover of my bed up to my chin, My mother heard me movin' an' come in, An' father got up out o' his big chair, An' come an' put his big hand on my hair; I seen a somethin' shiny on his cheek, An' closed my eyes right quick, an' didn't speak; Growed men, I know, don't like folks to ast why When there is anything 'at makes 'em cry; But I know what's the matter, my dad, he Is in some kind o' trouble. Can't fool me.
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