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From “Western Poems”
JEST onct I was a temperamental, sentimental poet— | |
| Grew a man like Colonel Cody’s for to show it. | |
| I’d write poems in my dreams | |
| And I’d sing ’em to the teams. | |
| Yup! | 5 |
| A sentimental, ornamental poet. | |
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| Wrote a poem onct about ol’ Bloody Bill, | |
| Told about the many humans he had killed, | |
| Took him through his entire life, | |
| Showed his love an’ showed his strife. | 10 |
| Then I hung up like a lunger on a hill. | |
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| I was near the happy ending of my tale, | |
| Had ol’ Billy ketched an’ in the county jail— | |
| When the words plum petered out, | |
| Wouldn’t flow, wouldn’t spout. | 15 |
| Then I roared an’ hit the temperamental trail. | |
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| I went to pawin’ an’ a clawin’ for them words, | |
| Skeered the wife an’ sent her roostin’ with the birds. | |
| But they wouldn’t come alive | |
| Though I raved till half-past five; | 20 |
| Then I quit the house an’ joined the loco herd. | |
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| Now I only hear one temperamental call— | |
| It’s the rumble of the cattle’s organ-bawl. | |
| As fur the little tale | |
| Bloody Bill is still in jail— | 25 |
| Which was a damn good place to leave him after all. | |
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