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From “Volunteers” Frank Maine, Maine
TWO months ago I left railroading, | |
| And from that hour—leisure and peace! | |
| Yesterday I came here from New York, | |
| On a tour to the West, | |
| But I listened to the tap of a drum, and enlisted. | 5 |
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| My coming here was only a step | |
| In my usual path, in drifting westward | |
| To the wheat fields for the harvest. | |
| I follow the growth of the grasses: | |
| First to Texas where the wheat ripens early; | 10 |
| Then with the prairie people | |
| And the southern harvesters | |
| From field to field I go | |
| Northward up the Missouri and Red rivers | |
| Until I reach the wheat bonanzas of the Dakotas; | 15 |
| And then northward still, | |
| Beyond the “blue stems” of Minnesota | |
| And up to Manitoba | |
| Where the harvesting ends, for the wheat | |
| Can not grow when Winter shrivels the grass. | 20 |
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| Then southward I would turn | |
| To the orange groves and fruit fields | |
| Of California, drifting perhaps to Mexico | |
| And the oil fields for the winter; | |
| And after that, begin the round again, | 25 |
| And wander to Texas for spring ploughing; | |
| And later northward once more, | |
| With summer returning for its harvest. | |
| It’s a good life, but beyond me now. | |
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