There's a wondrous smell of spices <br />In the kitchen, <br />Most bewitchin'; <br />There are fruits cut into slices <br />That just set the palate itchin'; <br />There's the sound of spoon on platter <br />And the rattle and the clatter; <br />And a bunch of kids are hastin' <br />To the splendid joy of tastin': <br />It's the fragrant time of year <br />When fruit-cannin' days are here. <br /> <br />There's a good wife gayly smilin' <br />And perspirin' <br />Some, and tirin'; <br />And while jar on jar she's pilin' <br />And the necks o' them she's wirin' <br />I'm a-sittin' here an' dreamin' <br />Of the kettles that are steamin', <br />And the cares that have been troublin' <br />All have vanished in the bubblin'. <br />I am happy that I'm here <br />At the cannin' time of year. <br /> <br />Lord, I'm sorry for the feller <br />That is missin' <br />All the hissin' <br />Of the juices, red and yeller, <br />And can never sit and listen <br />To the rattle and the clatter <br />Of the sound of spoon on platter. <br />I am sorry for the single, <br />For they miss the thrill and tingle <br />Of the splendid time of year <br />When the cannin' days are here.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/canning-time/
