'Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms-
It had the Tassels on-

I thought how yellow it would look-
When Richard went to mill-
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how Red-Apples wedged
The Stubble's joints between-
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in-

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father'd multiply the plates-
To make an even Sum-

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me-

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year-
Themself, should come to me-