The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1874-02-13
poetrp,
CICELY.
Alkali Station.


Cicely says your a poet! maybe; ain't much OF
! rhyme;
reckon you'd give me hundred, and beat me ever.
lime.
Poetry!-thats the way some chaps put an idse,
But l takes mine 'straight without sugar ant
that's what's the matter with me.
Poetry!-just look round you-alkai, rock AMI
sage;
sage-brush, rock and alkali; amt it pretty page
Sun in the east at morning, sun in the west a
night,
And the shsdsw OF this yer station the only thini
moves in sight.
Poetry! Well, no, Polly! Polly, run to your man
Run right away, my pOoty! By-bye! Amt she
Poetry! That reminds me o. suthin' right in tins
suit;
Jest shet that door, thar win yer! for Cicelys ear
is cute.
Ye noted Polly, the babyg month afore she wa
born,
Cieelytmy old woman) was mOody-like and forlOrn
Out of her head and crazy, and talked of floweri
and trees;
Family man yourself, sir7 Well, you know wha
woman be's.
Nsrvous she was and restless-said that sh'
couldn't stay,
stay-and the nearest woman seventeen mile:
away.
But I fixed it up with the doctor, and he said hi
would be on hand;
And kinder stuck by the shanty, and fenced II
that bit o land.
One night--one tenth of October--I woke with a
chill and fright,
For the door it was standing open, and Cicely
warnt in sight;
But note was pinned on the blanket, which It
said that she couldn't stay"
But had gone TO visit her neighbOr-seventeen
miles away!
When and how she stampeded, I didn't wait for
TO see,
For ont in the road, next mint started wild as
she:
Running FIRST this way and that way, like hound
that is off the scent,
For there warnt no tracks in the darkness to tell
me the way she went.
I've had some mighty mean moments sfore ken
10 tuls spot
Lost on the plains in 80, drowned almost and shot;
But out on this akali desert hunting crazy wife,
Was rally as unsatisfactory as anything in my life
"Cicelyi cicely! cisely!r called and held my
breath;
And 'scicely!" came from the csnyon-sAd all was
still as death.
And 'Cicely! Cicelyl Cicely!" came from the rocks
below;
And jsst but whisper of "Cicsly!' down from
them peaks of snow.
amt what you call religious but jest looked up
to the sky,
And-this yer's to what Pm comm, and maybe ye
think lie,
But up away the eastard yaller and big and far,
I saw Of student rising, the singlerest kind of
star.
yailer and dancing, it seemed to beckOn to
Yaller and big and dancing, such ss you never see;
Big and yaller and dancing, never saw such star;
And thought of them harps in the Bible, and
went for it then and thar.
Over the brush and bowlders stumbled and pushed
ahead;
Keeping the star afore me, went wherever titled.
1t might hev been for an hour, when suddent and
pert and nigh,
Out of the yearth afore thar riz up baby's cry.
Listen! thar's the same music; but they are
stronger now
Than the day packed her and her mother-I'm
burned If I Jest know how,
But the doctor KEN the next mint; and the joke o
the whole thing is
That Cis never knew what happened from that very
night TO this!
But Cicely says you're poet and maybe you
might some day,
Just sling her rhyme bout baby that was born
in q curious way,
And see what she says; and, old fellow, when you
speak of the star, don't tell
As how twas the doctor's lanten-for maybe
'twont sound so we'll