Fences

 

Now, boys, you might think a fence can’t talk

    But I know some what can;

And I specs that some’s ’bout ev’ry one

    What was ever built by a man.

And it don’t hardly matter how they’s made,

    Or what they’s all made from;

Or whether they’s coolin’ their heels in the shade,

    Or baskin’ their heads in the sun.

 

I’m a-tellin’ you, boys, that fences can talk

    —And I aim to prove that they can.

Boys, I reckon if we was to take us a walk,

    We’d see they’s all made to a plan.

Yes, and man was the bird what come up with the scheme

    In all his confounded pretense;

Since he seen Ma Nature, in her wildest dream,

    Hadn’t once thought to build her a fence.

 

Well, you could say that mountins is fences, I guess

    —But I guess that you’d be dead wrong;

’Cause even a dern fool would have to confess

    That a mountain just seems to belong.

And the same things is true o’ rivers and streams,

    And forests of mighty tall trees;

’Cause the waters is there to reflect on their dreams,

    And the forests to tickle the breeze.

 

Oh, but ev’ry last one o’ them mountins so tall

    Just invite you to climb to their top;

Yes, and ev’ry last one o’ earth’s fountins and all

    Welcome you to drink their ev’ry drop.

And each fragranty forest, so deep, cool, and green,

    And silent, as God ever made,

Just seems to whisper, Come in, if you’re keen,

    And rest your poor bones in the shade.

 

So man takes some rocks from these old mountinsides,

    And some lime, and some sand from the earth;

Then he throws ’em together with water, besides,

   ’Cause a stone wall is somethin’s got worth!

Or he hews down the forest, and heaves up the ground,

    To get him some ir’n and some wood;

Then he builds him a fence and he puts it right ’round

    Himself, then he says, That’s good!

 

But a fence in life’s scen’ry just seems out o’ place,

    Whether they’s seen by sun or moonlight;

And it don’t matter how long you look at their face,

    There’s just somethin’ about ’em ain’t  right.

’Cause although their egregients is natural and all,

    —It ain’t natural to see ’em that way;

And, as scen’ry, I reckon the fence and the  wall

    Is both failures—by night or by day.

 

But Man seems to like the dern things well enough,

    Though they’s homely and cold to the touch;

And they’s rude, and unfriendly—and talk kind o’ tough—

    And the things that they say is too much!

Yes, and it’s man what teaches ’em all o’ these traits,

    And I’ll tell you—it gives you a shock,

The first time you get close to one o’ their gates

    —And you find out real quick they can talk.

 

Yep, no matter if they’s made of brick, stone, or wood;

    Even ir’n, or bones, or glass;

There ain’t not a one but talks real good

    —’Cause they’s all in the talkin’ class.

And not just our own dear native tongue;

    There’s some what can talk real Greek,

And ev’ry lingo that man’s ever sung,

    ’Cause it’s man what has taught ’em to speak.

 

Now, boys, you might think I’ve been drinkin’;

    Still, I ain’t tetched a drop all day

—And it’s mornin’—and I plum hear you thinkin’:

    Well, you old fool, what DO  fences say!

Well, I specs now if you’d’ve just let my tongue go,

    By ’n’ by I’d’ve gotten to that;

I was takin’ my cap off—just so’s you’d know—

    That I ain’t talkin’ right through my hat.

 

Now, there’s some can speak Russky, some Spic, some Chinee,

     And there’s some what speak old Arabeek;

And there’s some can speak Wop, that there Argentine-y,

    Some as talk shop in kwaint Mozambeek.

They might jabber or drawl (though they can’t so much sing);

     They might chatter or prattle or shout;

But they’s all of a mind to say one main thing

     To something or somebody:—KEEP OUT!

 

Well, now that’s what they say on their cold outer side

    When you’s out there, and lookin’ on in;

And ain’t nothin’ a poor stranger’s strange face can hide

    —’Cause they see right off you ain’t kin.

But if you’s on their selfish insides lookin’ out,

    And you’s kin, then they shout in your ear;

And I reckon they say things ’bout shellfish, no doubt,

    But the main thing they say is:—STAY HERE!

But if you’s on their cold inner side—and you’s strange,

    Then they mutter and shudder and grieve;

Then they say lots o’ things a do-gooder might change,

    But the main thing is:—WHY DON’T YOU LEAVE?

 

Now, there’s fences, I’ll own, you can see right through,

    Whose insides you can read like a book;

Still, they watch you like hawks, then they’s jeerin’ at you:

    —YOU DON’T FOOL ME—I KNOW YOU’RE A CROOK!

But the most of ’ems got their covers shut tight,

    And, to make sure that nothin’ gets took,

They shout out:—WE’RE KEEPING OUR THINGS OUT OF SIGHT

   —SO DON’T EVEN BOTHER TO LOOK!

 

Boys, I’ve been all over this wide old world,

    And I’ve peered into each nayborhood;

And I’ve heard ev’ry strange ailin’ tongue unfurled,

    —And,  I guess, learned ’em all purty good.

Leastways well enough so’s, it now comes to mind,

    I could tell within each country’s mile,

Whether them ferin word’s finer points was designed

    To make my ears red, or me smile.

 

And what they told me was:—EVERY FENCE UNDER THE SUN

    IS FOR SOMEONE’S OR SOMETHING’S DEFENCE.

AND THE BEST ONE, they said—YES, THE VERY BEST ONE

    IS A COLD, RUDE, AND VULGAR OFFENSE!

And you could tell by the tone o’ their voices, right quick

    They believed ev’ry cuss word they said.

AND WHAT’S MORE—WE SWEAR BY OUR CHOICES, WE STICK

    —AND WE’LL SWEAR BY THEM TILL YOU ARE DEAD!

 

Well, I’ve traipsed ’round these whole seven cont’nents; I’ve

     Even sailed on the boundin’ main;

And I reckon as long as my spirit’s alive,

    You can hang me if I don’t again!

And I specs I’ve seen ev’ry dang kind of a fence

    —And been slandered by each one and all;

But the one what cost me the hardest expense

    To my ears, was the Chinee’s Great Wall….

 

And I walked ev’ry inch o’ that sucker—yes all

    Of it’s fool fifteen hunderd long miles.

Once or twice there I thought I might tucker, and fall

    I was so wore out lookin’ for smiles.

I looked on the south side in Chinee;

    Then the north side in Mongoly-ya.

They was both twice as cold as Reginee,

    And no trace of a magnolia.

 

How many! How many! I pondered in pain,

    As I trudged ’top them frost-bitten stones.   

And all I could hear was the Wall’s chill refrain:

    —WE LIE UPON  THOUSANDS OF BONES!

But the greatest number I gave to my doubt

    —So often it made my head spin:

Was them stones tryin’ to keep all us cauc-asians out;

    Or them desol-asians all in?

 

Boys, I reckon if you was to follow your nose,

    And you followed it day after day;

You’d soon see that fences is just like crows:

    Ain’t  one’s got a good word to say.

’Cause they’s birds of a feather in spirit:

    They’s both nega-tiff as you can get.

Just look at ’em sideways—you’ll hear it;

    And damn soon—and loud—you can bet!

 

I’ve been swore at real good in Swearhealy;

    I’ve been cussed out right nasty in Welsh;

I’ve been scolded in hot Pakistany;

    An’ them Dutch ones—they was somethin’ else!

I’ve been damned to Hell in Icelandik;

    I’ve been blasted in hot Bengalese;

I’ve been shot up with oaths in old Slavik

    —And them oaths wasn’t shootin’ the breeze!

 

Now, you heard me say fences can talk real good;

    What I meant was they talk really bad:

So’s their nasty intentions ain’t misunderstood

    For the good ones they ain’t never had.

Well, I’ve seen  me some long, long fences,

    And I’ve followed ’em right to their end;

Yep, I’ve seen’em all, but I ain’t heard a one

    That said, HOWDY!—COME ON IN OLD FRIEND!

 

 

Boys, if I ever get me a small piece o’ land

    I’ll just sit there, and I’ll let it be;

’Cause I reckon that God’s got it pretty well planned,

    And He don’t need no fool help from me.

So, I’ll sit there, and I’ll let it whisper and sing;

    Let the four seasons touch me, then go;

Whilst I just let them softly suggest ev’ry thing

    Their sweet natures jist feel I should know.

 

Yep, I reckon I’ll jist stick to mountins and streams,

    And forests and rivers, I guess;

’Cause I figure these four can incompass my dreams

     Well enough for the good Lord to bless;

Since they won’t try to keep this old carcass out,

     Or imprison this fool hide within;

And they won’t make these weary feet walk roundabout,

     Or question my soul’s orygin.

No, they won’t try to keep this here free spirit out,

    Or hogtie my wild heart within:

When I get to their wide-open spaces, no doubt

    They’ll say: Howdy, old friend—come on in!