Poem Hunter
There's A Bullfrog In The Well.
(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

There's A Bullfrog In The Well.

Homesick to-night ! My heart is sick,

And, as days of yore,
I walk again the village street,

I see the village store
The same old-timer cod-fish

Is dangling near the door.

I hear the village joker joke ;

I hear the answering roar
He 's cracked those hoary-headed jokes

These twenty years or more,
Yet I could laugh at them again

Until my sides were sore.

Before that self-same window, there,

I used to stand and feed
My boyish eyes on candy wealth,

For candy was my creed,
And if I had a copper, O,

Then I was rich indeed.

I sit in awe upon a box,

My hands upon my knees,


And hear the farmers as they talk

Of politics and cheese ;
Of horses, plows, the weather, crops,

And topics such as these.

Till all at once a vision bright

Stands in the open door ;
Her face is sweet, her feet are bare,

Her little frock is tore ;
My boyhood's darling ! Ah, my heart,

I '11 see that face no more.

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