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Show uo-good Plow But Alvin, he's not like to let it go. "It's a plow I meant to make, and a plow I got, And I mean for it to do what a plow should do." The smith was mad, the smith, he scald and swore. "Cuttin dirt ain't what that gold is for!" And he reached his hand to take the plow by force, But when he touched his prentice' arm, he hissed, And kissed his fingers, gaspin. "Boy, you're hot As the sunlight's source. "Hot and bright as sunlight," says the smith, "And the gold is yours to do whatever you like with, But whatever you do, I humble-as-dust beseech you, Do it away from me, I've nothin to teach you." Says Alvin, "Does that mean I'm a journeyman? I've a right to bend the black wherever I can?" And the smith says, "Prentice, journeyman, or master, For what you done a smith would sell his sister, Been Satan kissed her." What was Alvin totin when he left? I tell you this-it wasn't hard to heft: A burlap bag with a knot of leaden bread, A hunk of crumbly cheese, and a golden plow. A map of the world was growin in his head, For a fellow knows the edge can guess the whole, And Alvin meant to find the certain soil Where his plow could cut and make the clover grow, The honey flow.. No sooner v/as he gone than tongues did wag With tales of a million bucks in a burlap bag; The smith, he swore the gold was devil's make And therefore free for a godly man to take; His wife, she told how Alvin used to shirk And owed them all the gold for his lack of work; And others said the golden plow was fake So sneaky Alvin could connive to gull Some trustin fool. The tales of Alvin flew so far and fast They reached him on the road and went right past, And many a fellow in many a country inn Would spy his bag and start in speculatin. "Kinda heavy tote you got, I reckon." And Alvin nods. "The burlap's kinda thin- Do I see something big and smooth and yellow?" And Alvin nods, but then he tells the fellow, "It's just my pillow," |