The Homesteader's Lament

My crop was hail'd, so I had none to sell,

Pastures were burnt as brown as hell.

My milch cows all went out on strike,

So I figured that I had better hike.

To the tall timber and get a job,

And earn some money to feed my little mob.

So, I rolled my blankets and a thing or two,

I didn't have much, but it had to do.

I called at the Post Office to get my mail,

And then lit out down the trail.

While travelling the old tote trail track,

The thought of my wife and kids made me feel

like turning back.

But, I plodded along, not too gay,

And arrived at a logging camp about the close of day.

The camp boss found me a bunk in a big log shack,

I sure was glad to get the pack off my back.

I was tired, but not yet ready to croak,

So I sat me down and had a smoke.

I figured that a farmer's life, was a life of hell,

But when the cook house door opened and the

cook rang the supper bell.

And the bull of the woods said: "Come and eat,"

I forgot all about my aching feet.

After a good nights sleep, I awoke the following morn,

Feeling refreshed and fit, by the crack of dawn.

After a breakfast of hotcakes, bacon and jam,

I was feeling more like a man.

The camp boss took me to a long skidway,

On which I rolled logs for many a day.

I stayed with job until the camp closed down,

Then I rolled my dunnage and packed it back to town.

As I travelled the well worn trail to my old homestead,

Birds were singing and the sun rose red.

In the distance I could see the roof of my barn,

The air was fresh and good that early morn.

I felt so good, I gave a shout,

Soon my wife and children were all coming out.

Laughing and calling as I topped the hill,

The memory of it lingers with me still.

Now that we have money to buy more food,

Somehow, we all seem to be feeling good.

It is nice to again have money to spend,

But, on a homestead, there is no pot of gold on

a rainbow's end.