Men in the Rough
Men in the rough—on the trails all new-broken—
Those are the friends we remember with tears;
Few are the words that such comrades have spoken—
Deeds are their tributes that last through the years.
Men in the rough—sons of prairie and mountain—
Children of nature, warm-hearted, clear eyed;
Friendship with them is a never-sealed fountain;
Strangers are they to the altars of pride.
Men in the rough—curt of speech to their fellows—
Ready in everything, save to deceive;
Theirs are the friendships that time only mellows,
And death cannot sever the bonds that they weave.
Arthur Chapman, from Out Where the West Begins, 1917
This poem is in the public domain and does not require permission for use