It’s better to ride on the top of the stage
Than to sit in the cramped space below
Where there may be a child of an uncertain age
With his brothers and sisters in tow.
The dust from the trail—though the curtains are drawn—
Finds its way through the cracks in the door.
And when all the best seats have been taken and gone
There is no place to sit but the floor.
Close quarters and sweat are more burdens to bear
And the rocking can turn strong men green.
There’s the creak of the carriage, the lack of clean air,
And at night there’s not much to be seen.
But here on the top there’s more pleasure than pain
As the mountains and mesas pass by.
Above deserts and plains there are rainbows and rain,
And at sunset, a campfire sky.
And when the stage driver’s not cracking his whip
Or the messenger’s waving his gun,
There’s tobaccy to spit and some whiskey to sip
And some tall tales to add to the fun.
I/d rather be free on the top of a stage
Than entrapped in a small Pullman berth.
For the friends that I’ve made and the smell of the sage
Are the two finest things on God’s Earth!
James A. Tweedie is a husband, father, grandfather, author, poet, photographer, composer, fly-fisherman, clam digger, community organizer, and retired pastor. He has enjoyed living in California, Scotland, Utah, Australia, Hawaii and presently in southwest Washington State where his home is a short walk from a 24-mile long Pacific Ocean beach.