A million dreams ago this American patrol,
Anchors aweigh, one by one
Took boom-shot to body and soul
No flying home to the gals in Kalamazoo
From high on this windy hill
This conversation piece is the cradle song of cowboys
From Brooklyn to beautiful Ohio
A hand of stars, blue orchids,
Float on the graveyard water
Nobody here'll dance the Bear Barrel Polka
Getting some shut-eye, dreaming of old Missouri
They've got the farewell blues, Mister Meadowlark
Falling leaves, lying in honoured state
Those lost tomorrows. Are you rusty, hometown gate?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem