Poems by "Cushag"/The Inheritance
THE INHERITANCE.
The lands that should have come to him
Were gone with stock and store.
They dug a little grave for him,
What was he wantin' more.
The trees that should have grown for him
Had vanished long before.
They carved a little chiss for him
What was he wantin' more.
The gown his mother worked for him,
Put ready in the drawer,
Was doin' a little shroud for him,
What was he wantin' more.
The Sign of his Inheritance
Upon his brow he bore,
And that was all there was for him
What was he wantin' more.