< Page:The book of American negro poetry.djvu
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John Wesley Holloway
95
Mah appetite begun to fail;
Ah fo'ced some clabber, about a pail,
Fo' mah ol' gran 'ma always said
When yo' can't eat you're almost dead.
So Ah got scared an' sent for you.—
Now, doctor, see what you c'n do.
Ah'm sick, doctor-man. Gawd knows Ah'm sick!
Gi' me some'n' to he'p me quick,
Don't,— Ah'll die!
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