Since Hanner Died

The Widowed Farmer.

Since Hanner died the sun don’t shine so bright,
The stars don’t twinkle near so keen at night,
The church bell Sunday mornin’ an’t the cheer
It had when she was here.
Since Hanner died.

The very chickens misses Hanner’s care,
And go ’round with a sorter lonesome air,
There an’t no kind of joy about the place
Without her smilin’ face.
Since Hanner died.

The garden tools hang in the apple trees,
The hossweeds are a-killin’ off the peas;
There’s no one here to hoe the taters now,
Er feed the hogs an’ cow.
Since Hanner died.

I s’pose, of course, I’d orter be resigned,
But when I go out in the shed and find
The ax she chopped the wood with all them years,
I wet it with my tears,
Since Hanner died.

— Robley D. Stevenson, in N.Y. Sun.

The Ohio Democrat (New Philadelphia, Ohio) Oct 4, 1894

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