{"id":1648,"date":"2011-02-28T12:39:14","date_gmt":"2011-02-28T16:39:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/rayvanneste.com\/?p=1648"},"modified":"2013-06-14T12:57:56","modified_gmt":"2013-06-14T16:57:56","slug":"a-country-philosopher","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/rayvanneste.com\/?p=1648","title":{"rendered":"A COUNTRY PHILOSOPHER"},"content":{"rendered":"

Having commended the poetry of Frank Stanton,<\/strong> here is one of my favorites from him which might be useful for a Monday and comes to my mind since my travel plans this weekend were interrupted by a snow storm. \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n

“A Country Philosopher”<\/p>\n

The cold has killed the corn off an’ blighted all the wheat;
\nThe ice is on the peach blooms an’ the apple blossoms sweet,
\nAn’ the country is in mournin’ from the mountains to the sea,
\nBut the good Lord runs the weather, an’ it ain’t a-botherin’ me!<\/p>\n

The bees was out fer honey an’ a-workin’ fer their lives,
\nBut the blizzard stopped their buzzin’, an’ they’re froze up in their hives;
\nAn’ there won’t be any sweetnin’ fer the coffee or the tea,
\nBut the good Lord runs the weather, an’ it ain’t a-botherin’ me!<\/p>\n

The mockin’ birds was singin’ jest the sweetest kind o’ notes,
\nBut now they’re sittin’ silent with a flannel roun’ their throats;
\nAn’ there won’t be any music ’til the summer time to be,
\nBut the good Lord runs the weather, an’ it ain’t a-botherin’ me!<\/p>\n

It don’t make any difference what these changin’ seasons bring;
\nIf it’s cold, the fire’s a-blazin’, an’ I hear the chimney sing;
\nIf it’s hot, the trees is shady, with the breeze a-blowin’ free,
\nFer the good Lord runs the weather, an’ it ain’t a-botherin’ me!<\/p>\n

– Frank Stanton (1857-1927)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Having commended the poetry of Frank Stanton, here is one of my favorites from him which might be useful for a Monday and comes to my mind since my travel plans this weekend were interrupted by a snow storm. \ud83d\ude42 “A Country Philosopher” The cold has killed the corn off an’ blighted all the wheat; …<\/p>\n

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