The Mountain Ghost

Way out West where the high wind blows Far from the Kokomo and Poconos Where howling ridged dirges moan Songs of lost love for old Wilbur Sloan Where a lonely man built his home And though lonesome out on his own He felt the adventure was his alone Because no one cared about Wilbur Sloan When to these wilds with a pack And keg of gun powder tied to his back To this lonely country he roamed Muzzle loaders, axe, and flint stone What an eye for tinder was Wilbur Sloan's Facing the adversity of freezing to the bone No one could build things like Wilbur Sloan That terrible Winter of Eighteen Sixty-five He helped the valley Natives to stay alive Then they gave him the joy of his life A pretty native maiden to be his wife Now if alone on his mountain you find Yourself lost on your long lonely hike And freaky cold rain threatens your life If old Wilbur's cabin you happen to spy Beware the specter of old Wilbur's ghost For his aches and pains make a terrible host Just point to the flowers beside his feet Say 'Them purty flowers were onct yer bride' You'll see a ghostly tear wither his eye His misty hand to his cabin will invite You'll find warmth to your heart's delightLike the total idiot I know I am, I forgot my password, and have not as yet returned the excellent comments left to me by Missmfa, and Whisper Mdkee. I hope to make up for my negligence. Thanks one and all for any kind remarks that you have every right to feel went unappreciated, although I assure you I appreciate them very much in my dull witted way. Best Wishes always to one and all from Wesley Storer Written December 21st, 2001 © on Dec 21 2001 09:55 AM PST   0 • 10