At Pelletier's

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

Ca n'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.”