I was broke in Arizony, and was gloomy as a tomb
When I got a chance at punchin' for an outfit called Star-Plume;
I didn't ask no wherefores, but jest lit out with my tarp,
As happy as an angel with the newest make o' harp.
When I struck out from the bunkhouse, for my first day on the range,
I thought the tracks we follered was peculiar like and strange,
And when I asked about it, the roundup foreman sez:
"You ain't a punchin' cattle, but are herdin' ostriches."
Well, we chased a bunch o' critters on the hot and sandy plain,
Though 'twas like a purp a-racin' with a U.S.A. mail train;
But at last we got 'em herded in a wire fence corral,
And the foreman sez, offhand like: "Jest go in and rope one, Al."
Well, the first one that I tackled was an Eiffel Tower bird,
But the noose ain't pinched his thorax 'fore several things occurred:
He spread his millinery jest as if he meant to fly,
And then he reached out with a stilt and kicked me in the eye.
They pulled me out from under that millin' mass o' legs,
And they fed me on hot whisky and the yelks of ostrich eggs;
And, as soon as I was able, I pulled freight fer Cattle Land,
And the ostrich punchin' bizness never gits my O.K. brand.
_Denver Republican._
A Horoscope of the Months.