Phil LeNoir

From “Western Poems”

JEST onct I was a temperamental, sentimental poet—

Grew a man like Colonel Cody’s for to show it.

I’d write poems in my dreams

And I’d sing ’em to the teams.

Yup!

A sentimental, ornamental poet.

Wrote a poem onct about ol’ Bloody Bill,

Told about the many humans he had killed,

Took him through his entire life,

Showed his love an’ showed his strife.

Then I hung up like a lunger on a hill.

I was near the happy ending of my tale,

Had ol’ Billy ketched an’ in the county jail—

When the words plum petered out,

Wouldn’t flow, wouldn’t spout.

Then I roared an’ hit the temperamental trail.

I went to pawin’ an’ a clawin’ for them words,

Skeered the wife an’ sent her roostin’ with the birds.

But they wouldn’t come alive

Though I raved till half-past five;

Then I quit the house an’ joined the loco herd.

Now I only hear one temperamental call—

It’s the rumble of the cattle’s organ-bawl.

As fur the little tale

Bloody Bill is still in jail—

Which was a damn good place to leave him after all.