CANNING TIME

There's a wondrous smell of spices

In the kitchen,

Most bewitchin’;

There are fruits cut into slices

That just set the palate itchin’;

There's the sound of spoon on platter

And the rattle and the clatter;

And a bunch of kids are hastin’

To the splendid joy of tastin':

It's the fragrant time of year

When fruit-cannin’ days are here.

There's a good wife gayly smilin’

And perspirin’

Some, and tirin’;

And while jar on jar she's pilin’

And the necks o’ them she's wirin’

I'm a-sittin’ here an’ dreamin’

Of the kettles that are steamin’,

And the cares that have been troublin’

All have vanished in the bubblin’.

I am happy that I'm here

At the cannin’ time of year.

Lord, I'm sorry for the feller

That is missin’

All the hissin’

Of the juices, red and yeller,

And can never sit and listen

To the rattle and the clatter

Of the sound of spoon on platter.

I am sorry for the single,

For they miss the thrill and tingle

Of the splendid time of year

When the cannin’ days are here.