NOW that I've nearly done my days, And grown too stiff to sweep or sew, I sit and think, till I'm amaze, About what lots of things I know: Things as I've found out one by one- And when I'm fast down in the clay, My knowing things and how they're done Will all be lost and thrown away. There's things, I know, as won't be lost, Things as folks write and talk about: The way to keep your roots from frost, And how to get your ink spots out. What medicine's good for sores and sprains, What way to salt your butter down, What charms will cure your different pains, And what will bright your faded gown. But more important things than these, They can't be written in a book: How fast to boil your greens and peas, And how good bacon ought to look; The feel of real good wearing stuff, The kind of apple as will keep, The look of bread that's rose enough, And how to get a child asleep.