At the Bars of Memory and Other Poems/To a Friend o' Mine
TO A FRIEND O'MINE
He's got a care-free swagger when he trails along the street,
An' I reckon most folks would say he's as shiftless as can be;
An' his arms are always swingin' to the swingin' o' his feet.
An' he always keeps a-whistlin' an' just take it now from me
He's got a world o' sunshine in his dirty, freckled face,
An' his torn an' patched-up overalls an' shirt an' other things
Just cover up a body that is full o' tender grace
An' I'd pay him honest homage when I'd grudge the same to kings!
He's got a face-free swagger an' his arms are long an' thin
An' I reckon God Almighty put the fire into his eyes
Just about the self-same time He put the sunshine in his grin,
An' filled his hair with sunbeams pluck'd from out the summer skies.
An' where he got his laughter, well say, I don't know where
But I've heard it in the meadow where the brook goes idlin' by;
An' I've heard it in the willows 'round the old creek over there
Where I used to watch the shiners snappin' at a dragon-fly.
Tricky? Well, I guess he is, an' he will keep you guessin', too,
An' you couldn't get him mad or sore for all you'd try an' plan;
He's full o ' pep an' ginger, but I know he wouldn't do
A mean trick to the meanest chap you'd call a low-down man.
An' he's always there an' willin' to lend a helpin' hand,
An' he just loves to have you kinda notice him, an' say—
He'd make you like him, love him, an' he'd help you understand
The glory o' the night an' all the glories o' the day!
He's just a little shaver an' I don't suppose that you
Would ever stop to mark him if you'd meet him in a crowd;
But b'lieve me—he's the chap I'll doff my old sombrero to,
'Cause he's a friend o' mine an' honest Injun I am proud
To have him come an' greet me with his happy, boyish yell:
I'm glad to have him holler when he sees me passin' by,
An' all his songs an whistled tunes just seem to weave a spell
That takes me back across the years, an' … durn that leaky eye!
He's got a care-free swagger when he trails along the street,
An' I reckon most folks would say he's as shiftless as can be;
An' his arms are always swingin' to the swingin' o' his feet,
An' he always keeps a'whistlin' an' just take it now from me—
He's got a world o' sunshine in his dirty, freckled face,
An' his torn an' patched-up overalls an' shirt an' other things
Just cover up a body that is full o' tender grace
An' I'd pay him honest homage when I'd grudge the same to kings!