Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
Whoa, Zebe, Whoa
By Edwin Ford Piper
SADDLE me up the Zebra Dun—
  Whoa, Zebe, whoa!
Double-cinch the son of a gun—
  Whoa, till I bridle you, whoa!
Foot in the stirrup, straddle him quick—        5
Pitch and squeal and buck and kick—
Take your gait or the spurs will prick,
  Lope along, you Zebra Dun.
The boys are off for town tonight—
  It’s a-riding Zebra Dun!        10
Playing poker and a-getting tight—
  Sift along, O Zebra Dun!
Bunch of girls at Brown’s Hotel
Knows the steps, and dances well—
Rattlesnake Pete and his fiddle—        15
  Lope along, O Zebra Dun!
Lights of the town are a-shining clear—
  Run, you Zebra Dun!
Last four weeks seems like a year—
  Run, Zebe, run!        20
  Yip, yip, yi-yi, yi-yi!
  Run, you old stiff-kneed grasshopper,
  You spiral-spined jackrabbit, you!
  A-ho, whoopee!
Brown’s Hotel we’re bound to see,        25
Swing them girls at the dance party,
One-and-twenty on a moonlight spree—
  A-ho, whoopee!
  Whoa, Zebe, whoa!
  Whoa, till I hitch you, whoa!        30

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