1928 Panthers, West of the Pecos

I was sitting in the twilight
And my thoughts began to roam
O'er the many, many places
A man may call his home.

Some prefer the fertile valleys,
Others choose the mountain heights.
Give to me the Western Prairies
Where the coyote howls at night.

Ever hear him calling softly
To his mate and little brood
As he sallies forth at nightfall
In his weary search for food?

For his instinct seems to tell him
he has many foes to dread,
That the glorious State of Texas
Has a price upon his head.

Out there flows the Pecos River
Through the sage brush and the sand
Till it leaps upon the bosom
Of the mighty Rio Grande.

As you read the Western Stories,
All of you I know have seen
How the Law West of the Pecos
Was upheld by Roy Bean.

Now, beyond the Pecos River,
Of one place I fain would sing;
I would have you drink the waters
Of the Great Comanche Spring.

In my home town of Fort Stockton,
Out there on the Old Spanish Trail,
There Comanche Chief is flowing,
Never yet been know to fail.

Then we have our Davis mountains
Where the Giant Eagles soar
Till at last you see him resting
On the crest at Livermore.

If among these wondrous mountains
Further beauty you would seek,
I am sure that you will find it
When you gaze at Mitre Peak.

So out here in far West Texas
You will find the mountain heights
And you'll also find the prairies
Where the coyote howls at nights.

~Ollie Kate Harris