Miss Brown, my woman, died in a blazing fire in New Orleans, 1863. Dumb child dropped the oil lamp. I gave the child, a sick girl, to Miss Harriet, in Jackson. Went out to Wyoming parts, became a bounty hunter with Joe. Battle after battle. Joe got shot in Denver, cheating at cards. White man shot 'im. I spent six years rustling cattle on a Texas -- New Mexico track. Today, I am old and out of tricks. Never thought I'd cross back to the Southeast, but can't stop thinking about Mama. Nevada, though, is a hell of a way from Waycross. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEDICATION TO THE LATER SONNETS TO URANIA by GEORGE SANTAYANA TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMITATORS ... by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ASOLANDO: SUMMUM BONUM by ROBERT BROWNING THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG by ANNIE CHAMBERS KETCHUM SONNET: 29 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |