The Dusty Men
Four men travel a dusty road
Tight of belt and light of load
Weary feet shuffling slow
Where do the four dusty men go?
Man number one is a man named Tom
He never speaks much of where he is from
But he holds the ace of spades with a tear in his eye
As the bright sun sets in the twilight sky
Man number two goes by the name of Bert
Wearing the rags of a silken shirt
Early each morning with a flask of gin
He sneaks off alone to quietly sing
Man number three is a spry old cricket
Said his friends out west called him Wicket
With gnarly old fingers as light as a breeze
He lifts heavy purses just as easy as you please
Man number four doesnt say much
The other dusty men all call him Dutch
They can’t imagine that his road has been fun
For poor old Dutch doesn’t have a tongue
Four dusty men travel a dusty road
Tight of belt and light of load
None can ever say if the dusty men know
Where the roads they travel even go
©Aarron Mondello
2/11/2018
MyWorldsInWords 