Man of These Countries

For H. P. B.

I heard the thunder of cattle's hooves

Over the prairies of Canada when he died.

I remembered how we gathered sagebrush

For our fires.

This brush was grey and fragrant,

The tang of the mountains in it.

And the fire came out of the piled sage

Steel-blue, with orange flecks.

And we sat by the fire for the good talk,

And the memories of fishing,

Where the great Snake snarls down through the black

canyon -

The Grand Canyon of the Snake, they call it.

And those were good days.

This man was part of those days.

His hands tightened the diamond hitch on the pack-saddles,

And he walked with trouble on his crippled feet.

They were frozen when he was younger

And they were partly gone.

There were his days in Star Valley, Wyoming -

And the nights when the sky was a billion miles away.

The stars kept guard.

Their light touched the Tin Cup and the Jack Knife,

And the dewy water then turned silver

And the sound of those streams was his lullaby.

He awoke in the morning to the lowing of cattle.

He was a stockman.

Blue Creek, Canada, Cache Valley, Star Valley:

These countries he loved; these were his countries;

He knew them well and he loved them.

He pulled the first stubborn sage:

Tall as a man on horseback it was,

For these lands were rich.

He plowed the sweet land,

Hauled water in the dry country for his work stock;

And his woman went with him.

His sons and daughters grew into tall men and women.

He was a man of the West.

So let the sweet winds of the mountains blow over him.

Let his peace be the deep sleep of a tired man,

Safe in the land he loves.