The following poem was authored by my grandmother's brother Bramwell Quinton of Charleston, and sent to me by Neal Tremblett. It was printed in a newspaper, presumably The Clarenville Packet.

The Ballad of the Cut Worm

Aunt Kate had a flower,
Twas a growing so green,
The pride of her garden
So Sweet to be seen.
She watered and weeded,
And knew pretty soon.
The flower would be giving,
A beautiful bloom.

Her work was rewarded,
Her patience was too,
For it pretty soon,
Displayed its bright hue.
The pride of her garden,
Twas sweet to behold,
How much she admired it,
Can never be told.

Alas came one morning,
She went out to see,
Her flower as usual,
Oh where could it be.
She was almost heart-broken,
As she looked all around,
And soon she discovered,
It cut off at the ground.

She knew that a cut worm,
Had done this foul deed,
But why cut her flower,
Instead of a weed.
She quickly decided,
This monster to find,
I'll get you, I'll kill you,
I'll not change my mind.

She dug up the ground,
Where the poor flower lay.
She searched all around,
For the grub who must pay,
For this cowardly deed,
To a flower so fair,
He would pay with its life,
Katie then did declare.

At last she discovered,
This insect so vile,
Curled up in a ball,
On its face was a smile.
It looked up at Katie,
As much as to say,
I ate up your flower,
Now please go away.

But Katie she took him,
And there with her foot,
She crushed out its life,
For the flower it took,
From this little story,
Let cut worms beware,
We're going to get you,
Sometime and somewhere.

Bramwell B. Quinton
Charleston B.B.
July 8, 1977

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Last Modified: Saturday, 19-Jun-1999 19:12:35 NDT