A Colorado Philosopher.
Charles Fletcher Allen. Evening With Colorado Poets, 1894.
A pitiful, sad-eyed burro;
There wasn’t an edible leaf or branch,
And the alkali ground
For miles around
Had never a sign of furrow.
“Ah, me!” he sighed, “I am sad it’s so,
But life is an endless tussle;
They have let me go in the storm and snow
For they know I am used to rustle!”
I can go a day on a sardine can,
And two on a scrap of leather;
And it’s even plain
That I sometimes gain
On only a change of weather.
The lazy ones feed—on hay—indeed;
But I who have nerve and muscle—
They say, “He’ll do; he will worry through;
He’s a wonderful brute to rustle.”
O, sorrowful burro! Thin and sad!
I feel to you like a brother,
With the human race it is just as bad;
For the tramp and shirk
Must escape from work
By the bountiful sweat of another.
There are some that stand with glove in hand
In the infinite toil and bustle;
They sing and play, but they’ve lots of hay—
They have never learned to rustle.