Jealous Cowboy

Men in the rough—on the trails all new-broken obsession Those are the friends we remember with tears; Few are the words that such comrades have spoken Deeds are their tributes that last through the years. Men in the rough—sons of prairie and mountain Children of nature, warm-hearted, clear eyed; Friendship with them is a never-sealed fountain; Strangers are they to the altars of jealous pride. Men in the rough—curt of speech to their fellows Ready in everything, save to deceive; Theirs are the friendships that time only mellows, And death cannot sever the bonds that they weave.