John and Orion

John and Orion

On rolling prairie to south of Moore,

John Ware sets out a general store,

Not far from creek crossing dirt pathway,

Low lying in gulley to this day,

Yet long gone is the store of John Ware,

No soul living today gives a care.

Once all in the county, wagoned bands,

Left ruts digging deeply in grasslands,

A journey begun from crack of dawn,

When stars low in sky, Orion’s arm,

Dangles near belt, withered are his hands,

Since crushed while a youth in the Badlands,

Spoke split under weight when struck a stone,

And standing too close took with it bone,

Of arm pushing wheel over that rock,

Too late is outcry, too quick the shock,

Ton of goods brought resulted in groan,

Since that spring day Orion does moan,

Moans for the mornings of Michigan,

Recalls the joys before he was ten,

Hanging from low oak over stream bed,

Dipping his feet, then dipping his head,

Waters ran deep, every now and then,

A trout would appear, and bring a grin,

Brown was his side, as brown as the hair,

Curling as corkscrews in summer air,

Dusted with plum pollen floating low,

Rejoicing with birdsongs he did know,

Meadowlark trill, or whippoorwill there,

Whose chirp chirp warned of cougar or bear.

Such memories, reportedly true,

Fill Montana skies, so wide, so blue,

John Ware and Orion crossed the veil,

Sad there are few to remember tale,

It takes more than thoughts, matters not who,

Will write down records of people knew.