Classic Poem

“I F you're askin' my opinion, well …” said Overland the Red,
As he rose to do the honors, “I might say
You are takin' lengthy chances on what's goin' to be said;
It's nothin' new—but put a different way.

“So I drink to California, the loved, the last, the best;
To her women and her horses and her men;
To old El Camino Real windin' gray and lazy to the west,
Loafin' up the range and loafin' down again.

“I drink to California, the land of light and gold;
To the poppies noddin' happy in the sun;
To the snow upon the mountains layin' bright and white and cold;
To the old trails and the trails that's just begun.

“To the buckaroos a-ridin' out across the old Tejon;
To the mules a-jinglin' lively down the grade;
To the herder squatted smokin' by his little shack alone;
And the mockin'-birds a-dreamin' in the shade.

“To the girls that know a saddle from a pancake, on a hoss;
To the desert-rat with ‘color’ on the brain;
To the rushin' of the rivers that no man has learned to boss
When the ridges shed the roarin' winter rain.

“I drink to California, the darling of the West;
To her women and her horses and her men;
A blessin' on those livin' here and God help all the rest;
… In concludin' … we'll stand up and drink again.”