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DIG'N TATERS(159KB)

I've heard it said that Spring is here,
When robins take the wing;
But lots of folks don't go by birds,
To know the season's Spring.

When the sun starts swing'n toward the South,
And the dirt begins to warm;
The crab-grass turns a brighter green,
And honeybees start to swarm.

Yes, winter's done and packed its bags,
Head'd for some northern shore;
Folks here-bouts start plant'n taters,
Half a dozen rows or more.

Get ya-self some good seed-taters,
Each one have'n lots of eyes;
Place in a row ten inches apart,
And have 'em look'n toward the skies.

Now keep close watch as they are grow'n,
Never let the bugs take hold;
Dust 'em early on a dewy morn'n,
But never after a night that's cold.

Then 'bout the time the green starts fade'n,
After all put on good bloom;
Go find some help for dig'n taters,
Hearty work for early June.

Now wash the dirt from off the taters,
Tote 'em to the cellar floor;
Spread 'em thin in the darkest corner,
Build'n up the Winter's store.

They're good when mash'd-up hot with butter,
Or baked behind the oven door;
Some folks fry 'em in a skillet,
And listen to 'em ask for more.

Yes,... the only thing tastes near so good,
As a vine-ripe garden mater;
Are some fresh-hot, cook'd-up on the stove,
New-dug garden taters !