Because—she was pure and good.
Within me died hope, honor, pride.
And all but a primitive will
To hound him down on his blood red trail
And find, and kill and kill!
O’er chicle camps and logwood swamps,
I hunted him many a moon
Then found my man in a long pit pan,
At the edge of a blue lagoon.
The chase was o’er at the farther shore,