Classic Poem

They was dirt-roofed, an' homely, an' ramblin', an' squat—
Jest logs with mud-daubin'; but I loved 'em a lot.
Their latch-strings was out, an' their doors wouldn't lock:
Get down an' walk in ('twas politer to knock).
Mebby nobody home, but the grub was still there;
He'p yerse'f, leave a note, to show you was square;
Might be gone for a week; stay as long as you please,
You knowed you was welcome as a cool summer breeze;
Might be spring 'fore you'd see him, then he'd grin an' declare
He'd a-give a good hoss if he'd only been there.
But he's gone with his smile, an' the dear little shack
With his brand on its door won't never come back.
An' his latch-string is hid with the spirit an' ways
That gladdened our hearts in them good early days.
There wasn't a fence in the world that we knew,
For the West an' its people was honest an' new,
And the range spread away with the sky for a lid—
I'm old, but I'm glad that I lived when I did.