From the recording Bare Bones

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Epilogue of a Pioneer

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11) Epilogue of a Pioneer - m.litton

I’s born in Ireland in 18 ‘n 33, sailed for America in 18 ‘n 60
Marched with Sherman south outa Tennessee
That was a sorry time
The captured Rebs lay there a’bleedin’
About their fires with banjoes singin’
They sounded like a pack of a’grievin’ some old old rhyme

Chorus: O’er our trail the leaves are fallin’
The wolf ‘n the winter are howlin’ our names
O’er our trail both cold ‘n hungry
The night waits to swallow the wounded and slain

I rode on west when the war was thru
In northern Kansas ol’ Jed threw a shoe
So I homesteaded beside the Big Blue
That seemed the thing
I sold the bones of the buffalo
Built my home with sod then stone
That first winter as the blizzards rose I began to sing

I learned to farm by many teachers
The sun, the moon ‘n the four ol’ seasons
Though I swear it was never easy
You can get along
Her name was Sara and we raised two sons
I watched her age from a pretty fawn
She died in 18 ‘n 91, that was in the fall

The century turns with gold in the mountains
People pour forth like water from a fountain
And way up north where the great snows fall
My young sons roam
As I look back on my memory
To those Rebel lads singin’ that evenin’
God, I wonder why I’m livin’ to be so old