By William J. Meter
Her face was always schmutzig;
She had old pins
And badges pinned across her shawl.
She looked so sad-like that we thought
It must be in her head once
That she feels
So funny, with her children dead and all.
But she could hex the hens
And make the cow-milk bitter,
And she could pow-wow so,
Nobody in her neighborhood was sick for long.
The children used to run
When she doppled down the road
And she’d turn after them and almost smile.
But when the older ones was ugly,
She stand upon her stoop and grex
With words like devils once.
Nobody knowed her; but one night
Adam Scheidt came through the dark
And said he saw a cat’s eyes shine
And when he went ahead, he saw
That she was standing by a tree.
It gave him such a shiver
That when she died
He stayed at home and read the Bible all day long.
I think she was so strubbly just because
Her heart was like a dandelion
After the wind blows all the fuzz away.