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Poem	Oh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal; Oh, my; oh, my. She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal: Oh, my; oh, my. She writes me dat she loves me an' she loves me true, She wonders ef I'll tell huh dat I loves huh, too; An' my heaht's so full o' music dat I do' know what to do; Oh, my; oh, my. I got a man to read it an' he read it fine; Oh, my; oh, my. Dey ain' no use denying dat her love is mine; Oh, my; oh, my. But hyeah's de t'ing dat's puttin' me in such a awful plight, I t'ink of huh at mornin' an' I dream of huh at night; But how's I gwine to cou't huh w'en I do' know how to write? Oh, my; oh, my. My heaht is bubblin' ovah wid de t'ings I want to say; Oh, my; oh, my. An' dey's lots of folks to copy what I tell 'em fu' de pay; Oh, my; oh, my. But dey's t'ings dat I's a-t'inkin' dat is only fu' huh ears, An' I couldn't lu'n to write 'em ef I took a dozen years; So to go down daih an' tell huh is de only way, it 'pears; [Pg 267]Oh, my; oh, my.
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