Poem Hunter
Mandy Ann Mcgowan
(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

Mandy Ann Mcgowan

In class meetin, my Mandy Ann

She riz, and made my blood run cold :

She sed, ' I am a sinner, Lord
The biggest sinner in the fold !'

Right here I make a big complaint
Agin sich foolish talk es that ;

It makes me sick to see a saint

Stand up a-talkin thro' her hat !

Now, Lord, I'm sayin this to you :

I know my Mandy, deed I do :

Look here ! in all the righteous clan,

From Saint Bersheba down to Dan,
Ther 's nary woman, no ner man,
Kin put a patch on Mandy Ann
On Mandy Ann McGowan.

Why, look ahere ! I know her wort'i ;

Her modest soul is white as snow.
If ther 's a saint in all the yearth

Then Mandy 's one from top to toe ;
An when she says she is n't fit

To touch the white an flowin robe,
I have a pain an there I quit

I know that it would rattle Job !
Et 's just like this : Ef Mandy's shy,
Et 's time to ask, Then, where am I ?
But, pshaw ! when all the list I scan,
From Saint Bersheba down to Dan,
There 's nary preacher, maid ner man,
Kin put a patch on Mandy Ann
On Mandy Ann McGowan.

My Mandy is a spotless lamb ;

She 's far too good fer sich es me,
An ef she fails O, then, I am

A busted up community !
She won't be numbered with the grades :

Beside her other saints look tame ;
She 'd give the preachers cards an spades,

An then she 'd easy win the game.
In sayin this et 's just my ways,
Becuz, uv course, she never plays.
I 've thought it over, best I can :
Saint Bersheba, ner even Dan

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.