Panacea

(This undated poem was written when Dad lived in Arkansas; perhaps the 1950s?)

Panacea

While I'm searchin' for the cottontail on misty autumn morns,
Or list'nin' for a coon-dog's bawl where varmints steal the corn,
I'm feelin' so forgetful of a world that's full of woe,
That it's better than a "super-drug" which "heals you, head to toe."

When that Bushy-tail is teasin' from the highest red-oak branch,
Or I'm trav'lin' on a Quarter Horse on some Wyoming ranch,
I can never keep my mind on all the "dirty politics"
That seem to be the fuel on which the av'rage gov'ment clicks.

When the lunker spanks th' water with a sort of crashin' splash,
Or I'm searchin' for a pa'tridge up in some old loggin' slash,
Then I get a sort of feelin' that I can't find nowhere else,
It's the kind of restful happiness that whips the gloomy spells.

So take your thirty-thirty, or your fly-rod; call your dogs-
And come with me to find the bucks, or wall-eyed pike, or hogs.
I guarantee that you will be the healthiest man alive,
For old Doctor Mother Nature has the "dope" to make you thrive.