Make enemies of nations, who had else
Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
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And drew a bull no man could ride.
He promised her he'd turn out,
Well it turned out that he lied.
And their dreams that they'd been livin',
In the California sand,
Died right there beside him in Cheyenne.
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RGB: 72 48 72
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RGB: 72 96 72
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RGB: 120 96 72
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RGB: 96 96 96
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RGB: 96 144 144
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribbles down a marshy flood;
Ankle-deep you stick in mud
In the meadows while you sing,
"This is Spring."
