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THE END OF THE YAQUI TRAIL 63 |
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How oft have I listened to those well-known words, The wild wind and the sound of birds; He had thought of home and the Cottonwood boughs, Of the scenes that he loved in his childhood hours.
" I have always wished to be laid, when I died, In the old churchyard on the green hillside, By the grave of my father, oh, let my grave be; Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie.
" I wish to be laid where a mother's care And a sister's tear can mingle there; Where friends can come and weep o'er me; Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie.
"Oh, bury me not —" and his voice failed there; They paid no heed to his dying prayer; In a narrow grave just six by three, They laid him there on the lone prairie.
Where the dewdrops fall and the butterfly rests, The wild rose blooms on the prairie's crest, Where the coyotes howl and the wind sports free, They laid him there on the lone prairie.
THE END OF THE YAQUI TRAIL
By N. Howard Thorp
Written white near Altar, in State ofSonora, old Mexico, south of El Sarsabi, receiving a herd of steers for Allen & Robinson, of the La.rty Grant, near Santa Fe, 1914.
Living long lives in Sonora, nested 'mongst mountains high,
In close commune with the eagles that soar the Southern sky; |
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