The Dusty Trail, Revised

A cowboy like a glacier sat Upon the foothills. And just like that The climate changed from hope To glad. Melt water eroded the grassy slope. No bridge to cross. The swift stream glistened Brightly under the midday sun. To spend Another night camped stream-side would be too much. So the saddle-proud horseman with artfully deft touch Approached and broached the brisk water. From yonder side he sauntered until the trail emerged. Toward town he traveled and at sundown arrived. To bathe with soap upon the skin, With water warm and a glass of gin Made cold with glacial ice, is a nice Experience to have. And then roll the dice Into the saloon and pollute the soul With games of chance. Such a toll Does pleasure take upon the Puritan [for those believers, anyway]. A ban Would ameliorate such disgrace, if self-imposed. Unfettered cowboys are never so disposed.