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Don’t lollygag, scalawag, scurry on home.
Your mama is waiting. You’ve tarried too long.
The loblolly pine branches tap a tattoo.
You’d best get on back 'cause you’ve errands to do.
The scuppernong stain 'round the rim of your lips,
The red clay that oozes, the hornets that nips
Are clues to your mother that you have played long.
You’ve wasted your time when you should have gone home.
A whippoorwill trills. It will not be quelled.
Your biscuits are cold and the gravy has gelled.
The katydids call by the light of the moon,
Hurry home, hurry home, hurry home soon.
written 1997
