Poems of Lighthouse Bob
In Americana #555
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In Americana Beside the Victorian dressed in pearly white gables reaches a herdsman's glove worn, torn, and battered by many years discolored by scorching sun and thrashing rain painted and repainted again red the barn wherein milked cows branded steers and delivered foals in spring lived and galloped free-range disregarded for a time and hung the horse's tack on loft posts and lofts laden with hay whereon many a weary cowboy ate mutton on eggs and beans with coffee stout and passed through chill of night slightly slipping awkwardly skewed from upright doused in Americana. |
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In Americana #555
In Americana #555
