The Ballad of Richard Realf
THE BALLAD OF RICHARD REALF,
by Richard Barttelot
California – here he
comes
Into your furthest city;
San Francisco – sound
your drums
And sing the hills for pity.
The deserts of Nebraska,
From warm, sun-lazy
Mexico
To frozen, bleak Alaska.
Oklahoma – there he
goes
With his unfinished story;
Bison herds and
buffaloes
Stampede him on to glory.
By dried-up creek and
dust-track
He roams through far Montana,
Ranging the sagebrush
outback
Over the broad savannah.
Mississippi – there he
rides
On his unending journey,
With leopard skins and
lion hides
Ready for tryst or tourney.
The wealth of
Colorado’s mines
His saddle-bag discloses,
Grapes from West
Virginian vines,
And Pasadena’s roses.
Arizona – there he lies
Upon the midnight boulder;
The colours of the
rainbow skies
Have tanned his tattooed shoulder.
And echoes of his
stanzas
Are blown across the sky – oh
From the prairies of
Kansas
And the canyons of Ohio.
On the unwinding trail,
Fondling a pretty miss
Or quaffing Texan ale.
The bedrock is his
bolster,
His diet cloves and honey;
His gun is in its
holster,
His wallet full of money.
Beyond the wide horizon
The skies were always blue,
And RICHARD REALF is riding on
Though he is lost from view.
He sought the shining
morning star
Above the southern fountain;
He found the peace of
Shangri-La
Upon the golden mountain.
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