Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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The Glory Trail
'Way high up the Mogollons,
Among the mountain tops,
A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones
And licked his thankful chops,
When on the picture who should ride,
A-trippin' down a slope,
But High-Chin Bob, with sinful pride
And mav'rick-hungry rope.

"_Oh, glory be to me," says he,_
"_And fame's unfadin' flowers!_
_All meddlin' hands are far away;_
_I ride my good top-hawse today_
_And I'm top-rope of the Lazy J----_
_Hi! kitty cat, you're ours!_"

That lion licked his paw so brown
And dreamed soft dreams of veal--
And then the circlin' loop sung down
And roped him 'round his meal.
He yowled quick fury to the world
Till all the hills yelled back;
The top-hawse gave a snort and whirled
And Bob caught up the slack.

"_Oh, glory be to me," laughs he._
"_We hit the glory trail._
_No human man as I have read_
_Darst loop a ragin' lion's head,_
_Nor ever hawse could drag one dead_
_Until we told the tale._"

'Way high up the Mogollons
That top-hawse done his best,
Through whippin' brush and rattlin' stones,
From canyon-floor to crest.
But ever when Bob turned and hoped
A limp remains to find,
A red-eyed lion, belly roped
But healthy, loped behind.

"_Oh, glory be to me" grunts he._
"_This glory trail is rough,_
_Yet even till the Judgment Morn_
_I'll keep this dally 'round the horn,_
_For never any hero born_
_Could stoop to holler: Nuff!_'"

Three suns had rode their circle home
Beyond the desert's rim,
And turned their star-herds loose to roam
The ranges high and dim;
Yet up and down and 'round and 'cross
Bob pounded, weak and wan,
For pride still glued him to his hawse
And glory drove him on.

"_Oh, glory be to me," sighs he._
"_He kaint be drug to death,_
_But now I know beyond a doubt_
_Them heroes I have read about_
_Was only fools that stuck it out_
_To end of mortal breath._"

'Way high up the Mogollons
A prospect man did swear
That moon dreams melted down his bones
And hoisted up his hair:
A ribby cow-hawse thundered by,
A lion trailed along,
A rider, ga'nt but chin on high,
Yelled out a crazy song.

"_Oh, glory be to me!" cries he,_
"_And to my noble noose!_
_Oh, stranger, tell my pards below_
_I took a rampin' dream in tow,_
_And if I never lay him low,_
_I'll never turn him loose!_"
Written by: Badger Clark