Five Turns To the Brim
From sunset
Of the jamboree,
I will be sitting here,
O gracious!
I will be churning fast,
Two buckets of stark potash
On my table,
I will be straining my eyelids.
My mouth is full,
My eyes are swollen,
Beyond the stretch of my stomach,
My throat has choked, and
I am breathing fast.
I will run away, but
I stood up and lurched,
To the right, and to the left,
Home! Here is home, sweet home!
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