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THE SHEEP-HERDER * |
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ALL day across the sagebrush flat,
X\ Beneath the sun of June, My sheep they loaf and feed and bleat Their never changin' tune.
And then, at night time, when they lay As quiet as a stone,
I hear the gray wolf far away, "Alo-one!" he says, "Alo-onel"
A-a! ma-a! ba-a! eh-eh-eh!
The tune the woollies sing;
It's rasped my ears, it seems, for years, Though really just since Spring;
And nothin', far as I can see Around the circle's sweep,
But sky and plain, my dreams and me And them infernal sheep.
I've got one book — it's poetry —
A bunch of pretty wrongs
An Eastern lunger gave to me; He said 'twas " shepherd songs."
But, though that poet sure is deep And has sweet things to say,
1Only such cowboys as are in desperate need of employment
;ver become sheep-herders. 158 |
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