He Is Not Dead, He Is Just

As One Who Cons At Evening O'er An Album All Alone, And Muses On The Faces Of The Friends That He Has Known, So I Turn The Leaves Of Fancy, Till In Shadowy Design I Find The Smiling Features Of An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.

I Love The Horse From Hoof To Head. From Head To Hoof And Tail To Mane. I Love The Horse As I Have Said - From Head To Hoof And Back Again.

O'er Folded Blooms On Swirls Of Musk, The Beetle Booms Adown The Glooms And Bumps Along The Dusk.

It Is No Use To Grumble And Complain; It's Just As Cheap And Easy To Rejoice; When God Sorts Out The Weather And Sends Rain - Why, Rain's My Choice.

But The Air's So Appetizin'; And The Landscape Through The Haze Of A Crisp And Sunny Morning Of The Airly Autumn Days Is A Pictur' That No Painter Has The Colorin' To Mock-when The Frost Is On The Punkin And The Fodder's In The Shock.