Milford chronicle., 1929-01-04
THE LITTLE TOWN O. MILTON


It's the little town O. Milton 1 think o
more and more
As l keep gittin' furder from my goot
old fathers door:
Layin' there a-Sleepin' and a-dozin' il
the sun,
As quiet as a hired man when the day
is done.
There's something in the quiet of that
shady little town
That sets my throat ;I-chokin' with a
lump that will not down.
I'd ruther see its posies nodding in
each roadside niche
Than sniff the richest perfume from
the gardens o. the rich.
Whenever 1 return to it, it seems that
every tree
Is reachin' out its hands in q kindo
''Howdy-do'' to Inc,
And every bird that twitters in the
trees or in the sky
Chirps a little sweeter when feller
passes by.
I've seen heap of little towns in
mountains or by sea,
But none of 'em tech Milton: that is,
they don't, fer me.
Maybe it's because it was there that l
was born
And there that 1 first listened 10 the
rustling of the corn.
Maybe its because my feet first wan
dered there in play
Afore | knowed the rougher cares that
lurk in life's dark way.
Or else, the reason of it is, the memory
of a curl
That played about the temples of a
bonny- blue-eyed girl
That tripped along beside me on those
rare old walks at school
And carved our names upon the trees,
q which was against the rule.
I'm certain it must be because my
mother way back there
Taught me kneeling at her knees to
lisp that boyhood prayer.
1t matters little who the boy, or what
he ever does
They amt no place on earth as sweet
as where his mother wuz.
An when she's gone away from us
that why, my friend, you see
There amt no place like NIilton-that
is, there amt for me.
l know that some would think perhaps
that Milton is too slow
And some might be inclined to say,
Blind Milton" don't you know?
In side walks shess trfe short; in
other things she pokes
But no town'll beat Milton when it gifts
right down to folks.
You'd orter see them stand around in
clusters in the shade
when the country folks
brings in their eggs to trade,
Fer they all seem like relations, the
whole durn country through
When they meet We on the corner with
their jolly "Howdy do
They might seem rude to city folks,
their ways a trihe, old,
But back behind their plain old clothes
there beats a heart of gold.
Sweet little town o. Milton, though I've
left you now behind,
Yer image keeps a-dancing and a-hoat-
ing through my mind,
feel like a new widower, sea-sick out
at sea
l think-o' Milton, for that's
the town fer me.
There's a little hint of sadness in all
our pureSt poy
And be the cup of pleasure full, you'll
find some dregs to cloy.
1t worries me sometimes to think of
all the friends that's dead,
They're goin' like the hair I'm losin'
off my head,
And sometime when travel back, and
stand and look around
I'll find the hungry grave yard there
had swallered up the town.
Fer life is sech a transient thing, our
sun has scarcely rose
We turn around little spell-the day
is at it's close.
No matter where my feet may go. its
comforting past endurin'-
TO know that I was born n raised in
Milton, in old Milton.
hope when my time rolls around to
bid old earth good-by
My feet IL be in Milton when I jump
into the sky.
And if they ask me in that bour .1vba+
your request will be?"
III say Bury me in Milton, fer that's
the town fer me-"
John w. Holland.