| |
The mountain moon's a ridin'
on the stallion of the night;
with snowflakes softly glidin'
down its flowing mane of light.
The midnight winds are siftin'
through the driftin' flakes of snow;
and you can hear 'em whistlin'
through the pine trees as they blow
Some think my trail's a lonely one...
without a soul in sight;
with no one there t' talk to
save the wailin' winds of night.
But what I am's a mountain man.
I do jus' fine out here.
I've mostly slept beneath the sky.
I feed on elk and deer.
Good friends, these mountains are t' me.....
the kindest ones I've known;
and when I'm in these mountains,
I 'm never quite alone.
I like t' hear the whisperin’
of a gentle mornin' breeze;
and listen t' the birdsong
that's pourin' from the trees
A posse's out there after me
with bullets by the score.
But they won't take this mountain man
the way they did before.
I've gotta keep on ridin' now,
and hidin' from the law....
avoidin' men, evading them-
holed up in some dark draw.
I killed game outta season,
but the reason for my plight
is, when they jailed me, I escaped,
and killed while during flight.
I couldn't breath...I couldn't think.....
went crazy in that cell.
It stripped me of my reason;
and delivered me t' hell.
No longer was I human,
but an animal confined;
without the human faculties
that bless the human mind.
A mountain man is what I am....
unfettered, wild and free.-
and nevermore will prison bars
mock the man in me.
Nor will they hang this mountain man.
Of this I'm sure for I've
resolved that they will never take
this mountain man alive.
And when their bullets find me-
as their bullets surely will-
a free, unfettered mountain man
is what they're gonna kill.
The mountain moon's a ridin'
on the stallion of the night;
with snowflakes softly slidin' down
its silvery tail of light.
When I am dead and buried
and this flight from terror ends,
I'll mount that coal-black stallion
and rejoin my mountain friends.
Bette Wolf Duncan, cowboy poetry author.
copyright 2000
|
|
