Charles Badger Clark
Charles Badger Clark Poems
|41.||On Boot Hill||3/12/2016|
|43.||The Wind Is Blowin'||3/12/2016|
|45.||The Song Of The Leather||3/12/2016|
|46.||The Legend Of Boastful Bill||3/12/2016|
|48.||The Bunk-House Orchestra||3/12/2016|
|49.||A Bad Half Hour||3/12/2016|
|50.||God Of The Open||3/12/2016|
|52.||The Passing Of The Trail||3/12/2016|
|53.||The Piano At Red's||3/12/2016|
|56.||The Free Wind||3/12/2016|
|58.||A Cowboy's Prayer||3/12/2016|
Comments about Charles Badger Clark
The daybreak comes so pure and still.
He said that I was pure as dawn,
That day we climbed to Signal Hill.
Back there before the war came on.
God keep me pure as he is brave,
And fit to take his name.
I let him go and fight to save
Some other girl from shame.
Across the gulch it glimmers white,
The little house we plotted for.
We would be sitting here tonight
If he had never gone to war—
The firelight and the cricket's cheep,
My arm around his neck—
I let him go and fight to keep
Some other home from wreck.
And every day I ride to ...
The Old Cow Man
I rode across a valley range
I hadn't seen for years.
The trail was all so spoilt and strange
It nearly fetched the tears.
I had to let ten fences down
(The fussy lanes ran wrong)
And each new line would make me frown
And hum a mournin' song.
Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!