Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
Old Paint
By N. Howard Thorp
From “Cowboy Songs”

EVERY time I see an old paint horse, I think of you,
  Old Paint horse of mine that used to be.
Old pal o’ mine that was, the best horse of all, because—
  That’s why, old horse, at last I set you free!
I’ve bought ’em by the thousand, I’ve owned ’em everywhere—        5
  There’s one stands out among ’em all alone.
Paint-marked everywhere, tail a little short of hair,
  Old horse, you never failed to bring me home!
’Member when they stole you from Pass City,
  En locked you up inside the Juarez jail?—        10
Said that you had eaten up an entire crop of wheat,
  En I had to rustle round en get your bail?
En I got you cross the river en matched you in a race,
  En we bet the last red dollar we could scrape?—
En how you bit old Rocking Chair, the horse you run against,        15
  En made him turn his head en lose the race?
We was both young en foolish in them green days long ago—
  I don’t believe in telling stories out of school!
’Member when we roped the pianner en jerked her out the door?
  Hush up! Old Paint, you’re talkin’ like a fool!        20
Well, old horse, you’re buried, en your troubles they are done;
  But I often sit en think of what we did,
En recall the many scrapes we had, en used to think it fun,
  Es we rode along the Rio Grande….
                        Good bye, old Kid!

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