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Ranch and Range |
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TO A COWBOY POET
He rode a bronk he called Pegas',
To Homer's some related, A hoss with wings to range the clouds,
In manner plum' elated.
He likewise packed a instrument, He called "the cheerful lyre,"
An' from the same he'd rope a tune, An' sing his heart's desire.
He never thought o' things mundane, No work he cared to foller,
An' actoolly he never knew The value o' a doller.
But when he crossed the Great Divide, An' to the skies went wingin',
We found we missed him an' the songs That he was allers singin*.
An' tho' we cl'ar fergot the place Where we the cuss had planted,
Fer years an' years them songs o' his Our hearts have sort o' ha'nted. |
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