Poets

They'd make a rattlin' roundup, sure, The troubles known to man, If we could gather all the kinds Since this old world began.

Women's scarce in Cactus Center, and there ain't no bargain stores Fer to start them Monday rushes that break down the stoutest doors;

Down here in Cactus Center we have lived a life apart; We've been far, we're frank in sayin', from the headquarters of art...