Iíd like to be considered a spinner of good tales-
They serve to entertain one, when other effort fails.
The bard whoís prone to wander, is heir to many sights-
To pass the time by roadside fires, on long, and lonely nights.
Iíve seen the green Pacific, on Oahuís northern shore-
The breakers; awe inspiring, incessantly they roar-
Iíve walked the midnight beaches, Kahuku, Wakiki-
And Iíve hiked the western highways, like a wolf so wild and free.
Mount Rainier, in glacial beauty, to a soldier; frozen hell-
But the icy beauty of her slopes entrapped me with their spell-
I have faced the freezing blizzards of the Rockies winter storms
And have roamed the high North Texas plains, where the rivers all are
I love southwestern deserts, with their beauty raw and harsh-
And the verdant Lousiana, with her rivers, lakes, and marsh-
The brasada of South Texas, unchanged by hand of time-
And the twisty Rio Grande, and itís great Big Bend- sublime.
Ah, the stories for the telling, those Iíve known, and that Iíve seen-
Days of hunger and of plenty, times of drought, and meadows green.
Times of sorrow and of joy, tales of love, and enmity-
Iíd not fear to do it over, for those times have made me, me.
I scarce claim to be a poet; yet methinks I have the gift-
To twist a word adroitly, to give your soul a lift-
So Iíve tried to entertain you; ah? forgive me if I fail-
If at first I donít succeed, Iíll try another ďTravelerís Tale.