"Old Rivers" by Walter Brennan

HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE I FIRST SEEN OLD RIVERS?
WHY, I CANT REMEMBER WHEN HE WERENT AROUND.
WELL, THAT OLD MAN DID A HEAP OF WORK
SPENT HIS WHOLE LIFE WALKING PLOWED GROUND.

HE HAD A ONE-ROOM SHACK NOT FAR FROM US,
AND WE WAS ABOUT AS POOR AS HIM.
HE HAD ONE OLD MULE HE CALLED MIDNIGHT,
AND ID TAG ALONG AFTER THEM.

HED PLOW THEM ROWS STRAIGHT AND DEEP
AND ID TAG ALONG BEHIND,
BUSTIN UP CLODS WITH MY OWN BARE FEET --
OLD RIVERS WAS A FRIEND OF MINE.

THAT SUN WOULD GET HIGH AND THAT MULE WOULD WORK
TILL OLD RIVERSD SAY, WHOA!
THEN HED WIPE HIS BROW, LEAN BACK IN THE REINS,
AND TALK ABOUT A PLACE HE WAS GONNA GO.

SAY, ONE OF THESE DAYS IM GONNA CLIMB THAT MOUNTAIN
WALK UP THERE AMONG THEM CLOUDS,
WHERE THE COTTONS HIGH AND THE CORNS A-GROWIN,
AND THERE AINT NO FIELDS TO PLOW.

I GOT A LETTER FROM BACK HOME THE OTHER DAY --
THEYRE ALL FINE, AND THE CROPS IS HIGH --
AND DOWN AT THE END MY MAMA SAID,
YOU KNOW, OLD RIVERS DIED.
IM JUST SITTING HERE ON THIS NEW-PLOWED EARTH,
TRYIN TO FIND ME A LITTLE SHADE.
AND WITH THE SUN BEATING DOWN, CROSS THE FIELD I SEE
THAT MULE, OLD RIVERS...AND ME