Till the brakeman hollered, “Hit the sod.”
So the bo rolled off and in the ditch,
With two switch lights and a rusty switch,
A poor, old, seedy, half-starved bo
On a hostile pike without a show.
Then all at once from out of the dark
Came the short, sharp notes of a coyote’s bark;
The bo looked up and quickly rose,
And shook the dust from his threadbare clothes.
Far off in the west through the moonlight night