The Long Road West Poem by Henry Herbert Knibbs

Once I heard a Hobo, singing by the tie-trail,
Squatting by the red rail rusty with the dew:
Singing of the firelight, singing of the high-trail
Singing to the morning as the dawn broke through:
'Saddle, rail, or pack-sack—any way you take it:
Choose a pal and try him, but on your own is best.
Sand, clay, or cinders—any way to make it,
Looking for To-morrow down the long road West.'
Far across the ranges, over where the sea swings,
Battering the raw ledge, booming up the sand:
There I heard a sailor telling what the sea sings,
Sings to every sailor when he longs for land:
'When you've saved your cash and when you've done your hitch, sir;
—Holystone and hardtack, buckle to the test—
When you're back in port and your feet begin to itch, sir,
Think about To-morrow and the long road West.'
Slowly came a cowboy riding round the night-herd;
Silver was the starlight, slender was the moon:
Then I heard him singing, lonely as a night-bird,
Pony's head a-nodding to the queer old tune:
'Wind, rain, sunshine—every kind of weather:
Sweating on the mesa, freezing on the crest:
Me and just my shadow, jogging on together,
Jogging on together down the long road West.'
Lazy was the cool stream slipping through the far light
Shadowing the buckthorn high along the hill,
When I heard a bird sing softly in the starlight,
Singing in the evening when the trees were still:
'Valley, range, and high trail, mesa, butte and river:
Sun across the lowlands, rolling down to rest:
There'll always be a skyline, running on forever,
Running on forever, down the long road West.'