To Her
Cut loose a hundred rivers,
Roaring across my trail,
Swift as the lightning quivers,
Loud as a mountain gale.
I build me a boat of slivers;
I weave me a sail of fur,
And ducks may founder and die
But I
Cross that river to her!
Bunch the deserts together,
Hang three suns in the vault;
Scorch the lizards to leather,
Strangle the springs with salt.
I fly with a buzzard feather,
I dig me wells with a spur,
And snakes may famish and fry
But I
Cross that desert to her!
Murder my sleep with revel;
Make me ride through the bogs
Knee to knee with the devil,
Just ahead of the dogs.
I harrow the Bad Lands level,
I teach the tiger to purr,
For saints may wallow and lie
But I
Go clean-hearted to her!
Badger Clark
sincere
ReplyDeleteBaxter Black is who you need to look up for cowboy poetry. Unless this is yours under a new assumed name. You aren't making up poetry while you punch cattle are you?
ReplyDelete"I build me a boat of slivers;
ReplyDeleteI weave me a sail of fur," - I love the musicality of this poem ... and its message.
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