Going, Going, Gone
Where are you going, my dear young man?
“I’m going,” he said, “to the prairie land.”
What do you mean, are you going out West?
“I am,” he replied, as he pulled down his vest.
What will you do there, my dear young man?
“I’ll make my fortune, you understand.”
(Two years later—moral.)
My dear young man, how do you do?
Why, it’s most two years since I saw you.
I really commenced to think you were dead;
Oh! you were going West, I believe you said.
Well, to be candid, you’re looking sad,
And I must say that your clothes look bad.
It’s the same old hat I saw before,
Your coat, I see, is somewhat tore.
In the knee of your pants another tear,
And your shoes, they look the “worse for wear,”
And what in the world became of your vest?
The young man said, “I’ve been out West.”