Men in the Rough

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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