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.
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