With the rabbits and rust in the wheat.
Oh, then life would want neither a whip or a spur—
With a “string,” and a trigger to pull,
And just you at my side, and the possums astir,
And the moon, our old moon! at the full ...
But if I am dull, and my letters are crook,
It is certain that you should know why:
For you’ll find Charley’s heart, if you’re carin’ to look,
At the gate where he kissed you “Good-bye!”
And say, if in a month, on the home-comin’ track,