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A CHRISTMAS LETTER
D
EAR MISS: For this pink stationery-Forgive me; it's all I could find
In Buck Dalton's store at the Ferry, So I took it—I hope you won't mind.
For it's Christmas good wishes I'm sending, Though in words not the best ever slung,
To you, where the Tiber is wending,
From me, on the banks of the Tongue.
Perhaps you've forgotten the morning
When your car of the Overland Mail
Broke loose on a curve, without warning, And was ditched by the spread of a rail?
I was herding near by in the valley,
And I pulled out your father and you,
And I found that your name, Miss, was Sallie, And—well, I remember. Do you?
You were there for five hours at least, Miss, Then the whistle, a smile, a last word,
And you rolled away to the East, Miss, While I galloped back to the herd.
You, back to your world and its beauties, New York, Paris, Rome, and all those,
I, back to a cowboy's rough duties
In sunshine and rainstorm and snows.
But to-night I'm alone in the shack here
On my quarter-square Government claim,
While coyotes are yelping out back here — You'd be scared, Miss, I guess, by the same. |
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