Edwin Ford Piper
…The tones came mellower, as unevenly.
The tramp limped off trailing the hobo song:
K. C., and Denver, too;Put my foot on the flying freight,
Going to ride her through.
Bindlestiff topped a hillock, against the sky
Jauntily dangling. Bird to bird once more
Made low sweet answer; in the wild rose cups
The bee found yellow meal; all softly moved
The white and purple morning-glory bellsThe sun’s face rested. Bindlestiff was gone.
Oh, the lives of men, lives of men,
In pattern-molds be run;
But there’s you, and me, and Bindlestiff—
And remember Mary’s Son.
Poetry, A Magazine of Verse
tagged as: hobo. vintage. trains. dog. old photography. dust bowl. depression. poverty.