POETRY BREAK #3: "Watermelon Time"

"WATERMELON TIME"

1891

by James Whitcomb Riley

 (October 7, 1849 – July 22, 1916)

Old watermelon time is a-comin' round again,
   And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,
For the way I hanker after watermelons is a sin--
   Which is the why and wherefore, as you can plainly see.

Oh! it's in the sandy soil watermelons does the best,
   And it's there they'll lay and waller in the sunshine and
       the dew
Til they wear all the green streaks clean off of their
       breast;
  And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them; are you?

There ain't no better thing in the vegetable line;
  And they don't need much 'tendin', as every farmer
     knows;
And when their ripe and ready for to pluck from the vine,
  I want to say to you they're the best fruit that grows.

It's some likes the yellow-core, and some likes the red.
  And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the best;
But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my head,
  Is the old "Edinburg Mountain-sprout," of the west...

You don't want no pumpkins nigh your watermelon vines--
  'Cause, some-way-another, they'll spile your melons,
     shore;--
I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to the rinds,
   (Which may be a fact you have heard of before.)

But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with
     care,
  You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's
     pride and joy,
And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air
  As if each one of them was your little girl or boy.

I joy in my heart just to hear that rippin' sound
  When you split one down the back and jolt the halves
     in two,
And the friends you love the best is gethered all around--
  And you says unto your sweetheart, "Oh, here's the
     core for you!"

And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all,
  Especially the childern, and watch their high delight
As one by one the rinds with their pink notches fall,
  And they holler for some more, with unquenched
     appetite.

Boys take to it natural, and I like to see 'em eat--
  A slice of watermelon's like a frenchharp in their
     hands,
And when they "saw" it through their mouth such music
     can't be beat--
  'Cause it's music both the spirit and the stomach
     understands.

Oh, there's more in watermelons than the purty-colored
     meat,
  And the overflowin' sweetness of the water squished
     betwixt
The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth,
  And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood
     mixed.

For I never taste a melon but my thoughts fly away
  To the summertime of youth; and again I see the dawn,
And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day,
  And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a-comin'
     on.

And there's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves and
     trees,
And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver
     mice,
And us boys in the watermelons on our hands and knees,
  And the new-moon hangin' o'er us like a yellow-cored
     slice.

Oh! it's watermelon time is a-comin' round again,
  And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,
For the way I hanker after watermelons is a sin--
  Which is the why and wherefore, as you can plainly see.

Taken from the collection

FARM RHYMES [1921]