O'er Folded Blooms On Swirls Of Musk,

I Don't Know How To Tell It--but Ef Such A Thing Could Be As The Angels Wantin' Boardin', And They'd Call Around On Me-- I'd Want To 'ccommodate 'em--all The Whole-in-durin' Flock-- When The Frost Is On The Punkin And The Fodder's In The Shock.

O'er Folded Blooms On Swirls Of Musk, The Beetle Booms Adown The Glooms And Bumps Along The Dusk.

Just A Wee Cot-the Crickets Chirr-love And The Smiling Face Of Her.

Who Bides His Time Tastes The Sweet Of Honey In The Saltiest Tear; And Though He Fares With Slowest Feet Joy Runs To Meet Him Drawing Near.

O, It Sets My Heart A Clickin' Like The Tickin' Of A Clock, When The Frost Is On The Punkin And The Fodder's In The Shock.