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Narration: Grandpa came to Dakota Land In 1883, Of sturdy Pennsylvania stock, A mighty man was he. He was no Davy Crockett, Nor Bat Masterson, But he did his very best, In everything he done. He worked his little homestead, Not regretting for a minute, That as he broke the ground, He found no gold in it. He only wanted what he could have, Using his two hands, But as the drought wore on and on, He had to make new plans. With a fisty pair of ponies, And a rickety little cart, He kissed grandma and hugged the kids, It was so hard to part. The little sigh upon the cart, Read "The U. S. Mail," As long as it was in his care, There was no way he'd fail. His trip was from Fort Niobrara, To the Rosebud Fort, All the way through Indian country, No fear could he afford. As he stopped at Stillwell's, He saw the hungry little faces, He'd gladly take her eggs and cream, And see if he could sell it. Week after week, Year after year, And as the legend goes, He was the only U. S. Mail, The Indians did not oppose. Why you ask could he get through, While all others failed? A bottle of watered down whiskey, Tucked snug among the mail. Cile Beer written l975

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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Date: 8/13/2016 11:25:00 PM
This is wonderful. Congrats for being featured. Sunita :)
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