Wildwood Slim

Wildwood Slim Poems

When dips my oar the Silent River
That Eternity and Time divide,
This house of clay I’ll leave forever
A new one waits, just o’er the tide.
...

Sometimes I find myself alookin’
Through the years, a backward glance,
And I see the friends of childhood
From the years now gone before.
...

When o’er me you lay the blanket,
Of this earths protecting sod;
And you set me down forever
With my soul called back to God.
...

Oft times when I abed do lie
And feign would be asleep,
There arise profoundest thoughts
From out the far and deep.
...

I spent today in a hidden meadow,
With wildflowers up to my knees;
And butterflies that swooped and dived,
And all around me, trees.
...

What price is Peace?
I asked a troubled world,
Casting a wistful eye.
The world, uneasy with
...

New York, I walked your streets today,
I meshed with your moving crowd,
I felt in awe at the relentless motion,
I saw your people, purposeful, proud.
...

We followed their prints down the sandstone rim,
Down to the green, green grass;
Over rocky trails where the spoor grew dim,
To the bottom of the canyon pass.
...

With a cowboyish grin an’ a lift of my chin,
I reach for my new lariat:
I’ll head down the path, ti’ ketch thet new calf,
Afore thet old sun’s gonna set.
...

The Best Poem Of Wildwood Slim

House Of Clay

When dips my oar the Silent River
That Eternity and Time divide,
This house of clay I’ll leave forever
A new one waits, just o’er the tide.

This old clay, I’ll leave to crumble
Earth to earth, and dust to dust;
My vessel there, in the sweet forever,
‘Twill never mar, nor stain, nor rust.

T’wont be plagued with hurt and anguish,
Nor tempted with man’s gain and lust;
Pain and parting, there no never,
The gentle land of love and trust.

Yes, when my oar with silver glistens
From bright Jordan’s silent tide,
All to this world I leave behind me
Will lie in a grave on the green hillside.

Oh, meet me o’er the Silent River!
Our new forms there by faith will match
The house of clay we’ve left behind us;
Your familiar face at sight I’ll catch.

Pray that I my Oar have ready,
Both prepared to live and die;
That when we leave this clay behind us
We’ll meet again, friend, you and I.

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