Classic Poem

Beneath the wind-swept pine trees where the shining stars look down on you,
Balsam-scented breezes, and the purling of a stream,
Pack and gun beside you, and a healthy outdoor brown on you,
The Red Gods, they are calling you. For you the camp fires gleam.
So seize your pack and strike the trail, for now's the time to do it, lad.
The great wide open spaces where the blood runs red,
And sleep beneath the sky—but as for me, I'll stake you to it, lad.
I love the open spaces, but I'd rather sleep in bed.

Yes, I'd rather sleep in bed
With a pillow 'neath my head,
For the woods are filled with bugs and things,
When all is done and said.
When you wake you find they've fed
On your face and hands and head.
Oh, I like the woods in daytime,
But at night I love my bed.