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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=566982" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>October on the Sheep Range</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=566982" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">There ain't no leaves to turn to gold-<br>There ain't a tree in sight-<br>In other ways the herder's told<br>October's come, all right.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=566982" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Jest like ten thousand souls, all lost,<br>The wind howls-ain't it nice!-<br>The water-hole is froze acrost<br>With crinkly-crackly ice.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=566982" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The sheep bed down before the sun<br>Has hit the rim of hills;<br>The prairie wolves are on the run<br>To make their nightly kills.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=566982" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But kyards are sayin', 'Solitaire,'<br>The bacon's fryin' prime;<br>The old sheep wagon's free from care<br>In late October time.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Arthur+Chapman">Arthur Chapman</a></strong></div>

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