Curly Jim
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Series 910 Thy curly locks, old friend, are turning gray; Thy face is furrowed, but those aged eyes Are even more serene than Summer Skies. Tis Sunset now, and near the close of day, When shadows having lengthened fade away, and Heav'n is tinged with gold and purple dyes; We see thy native woods a pine tree sighs, For snows of age around thy tepee stray; Down through the rugged gorges of thy dreams, Now speed the waters of familiar stream; We hear their music as they onward flow They're singing of the days of long ago, when pioneers, whom dangers e'er attend, found in thee, Jim, an everlasting friend. |
