We've been out to Pelletier's Brushing off the stain of years, Quitting all the moods of men And been boys and girls again. We have romped through orchards blazing, Petted ponies gently grazing, Hidden in the hayloft's spaces, And the queerest sort of places That are lost (and it's a pity!) To the youngsters in the city. And the hired men have let us Drive their teams, and stopped to get us Apples from the trees, and lingered While a cow's cool nose we fingered; And they told us all about her And her grandpa who was stouter. We've been out to Pelletier's Watching horses raise their ears, And their joyous whinnies hearing When the man with oats was nearing. We've been climbing trees an' fences Never minding consequences. And we helped the man to curry The fat ponies' sides so furry. And we saw a squirrel taking Walnuts to the nest he's making, Storing them for winter, when he Can't get out to hunt for any. And we watched the turkeys, growing Big and fat and never knowing That the reason they were living Is to die for our Thanksgiving. We've been out to Pelletier's, Brushing off the stain of years. We were kids set free from shamming And the city's awful cramming, And the clamor and the bustle And the fearful rush and hustle-- Out of doors with room to race in And broad acres soft to chase in. We just stretched our souls and let them Drop the petty cares that fret them, Left our narrow thoughts behind us, Loosed the selfish traits that bind us And were wholesomer and plainer Simpler, kinder folks and saner, And at night said: "It's a pity Mortals ever built a city."
Edgar Albert Guest’s other poems:
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