Three-Foot Stool

Excerpt from Three-Foot Stool
A Three-Foot Stool
Chapter I
"The midnight breeze that haunts the plain
Now cools my horse's flanks;
The wearied cattle now have lain,
In close and darkened ranks,
Their huddled bodies on the ground.
Around the sleeping herd
We keep our slow monotonous round;
Hushed is the air, unstirred
Save where the puncher's tuneful cry,
Also on guard with me,
Tells the wild creatures they may lie
In full security,
And where the creek keeps its soft song,
Unheard in the fierce heat
That from the sun all the day long
On the burnt plains did beat.
The moon in highest heaven does ride.
Her palace gates that smoothly glide,
Her ivory gates, are opened wide
In stately sort.
The stars that fill the silent night
Draw nearer to her palace bright,
Their silv'ry urns to fill with light
In her high Court.
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