Greek George Allen 1828-1913

Greek George Allen 1828-1913 Seegh no mee. Ah, I see we have not been introduced. Please, if you will, call me George, George Allen. In life, I was a greek from Smyrna, Hired by the United States Army, Long ago when Buchanan was president, Employed because of my tenacious skill, Riding atop a grunting dromedary, Riding and gliding over the great American landscape, Bringing the supplies for the Butterfield Overland, Riding day and night most of the time, From St. Louis to my final home, Los Angeles; The American Camel Corps we were! The eight of us: Me, Mico, Long Tom, Short Tom, And the others, all hard as quartz; To the virgin western wilderness we went, Never slowing down our momentous movements, Or ever looking back in timid fear. And so, with sweaty craft, and A satchel full of lucky days, We completed the route in a year! And as for the notorious Senor Tiburcio, well, Do not judge this old skeleton here! I let him live out back in my stable house; I minded my own business! It was either that, or A single gunshot to my head! “Eese malaka!” But I never saw any reward money, I swear, When the relentless inexorable law Finally captured and led him to the gallows; “Pronto.” This dirt here, senor, belongs to you! Seegh no mee. I must leave you now, And find rest in this calming Mexican dirt, Here in shady Mt. Olive Cemetery.