SOLILOQUY OF A TURKEY

Dey‘ s a so't o’ threatenin’ feelin’ in de blowin’ of de breeze,

An’ I‘ s feelin’ kin’ o’ squeamish in de night;

I‘ s a-walkin’‘ roun’ a-lookin’ at de diffunt style o’ trees,

An’ a-measurin’ dey thickness an’ dey height.

Fu’ dey‘ s somep'n mighty‘ spicious in de looks de da'kies give,

Ez dey pass me an’ my fambly on de groun,’

So it‘ curs to me dat lakly, ef I caihs to try an’ live,

It concehns me fu’ to‘ mence to look erroun’.

Dey's a cu'ious kin’ o’ shivah runnin’ up an’ down my back,

An’ I feel my feddahs rufflin’ all de day,

An’ my laigs commence to trimble evah blessid step I mek;

W'en I sees a ax, I tu'ns my head away.

Folks is go'gin’ me wid goodies, an’ dey‘ s treatin’ me wid caih,

An’ I‘ s fat in spite of all dat I kin do.

I‘ s mistrus'ful of de kin'ness dat's erroun’ me evahwhaih,

Fu’ it‘ s jes’ too good, an’ frequent, to be true.

Snow‘ s a-fallin’ on de medders, all erroun’ me now is white,

But I‘ s still kep’ on a-roostin’ on de fence;

Isham comes an’ feels my breas'bone, an’ he hefted me las’ night,

An’ he‘ s gone erroun’ a-grinnin’ evah sence.

‘ T ai n't de snow dat meks me shivah;‘ t ai n't de col’ dat meks me shake;

‘ T ai n't de wintah-time itse'f dat's‘ fectin’ me;

But I t'ink de time is comin’, an’ I‘ d bettah mek a break,

Fu’ to set wid Mistah Possum in his tree.

Wen you hyeah de da'kies singin’, an’ de quahtahs all is gay,

‘ T ai n't de time fu’ birds lak me to be‘ erroun’;

Wen de hick'ry chip is flyin’, an’ de log‘ s been ca'ied erway,

Den hit's dang'ous to be roostin’ nigh he groun’.

Grin on, Isham! Sing on, da'kies! But I flop my wings an’ go

Fu’ de sheltah of de ve'y highest tree,

Fu’ dey‘ s too much close ertention — an’ dey's too much fallin’ snow —

An’ it's too nigh Chris'mus mo'nin’ now fu’ me.