I'm still here

I really am

I think

Me and My Burro
While coming' cross the desert, I met a miner grey,
A riding' on a burro, we passed the time of day,
I asked him "where you heading"? He answered with a grin,
And pointing' up to Heaven, he said in a voice so thin.

(Chorus)
Me and my burro, are on our last long ride,
We're headed for the promised land,
Up on the Jordan’s side,
Where everyone's and angel, and everything is free,
Where wind and storm can't hurt you when you enter Galilee.
Where lust of gold's forgotten, and sorrows never known,
Where the keep the Ten Commandments, And your soul is all your own,
Yes me and my burro are on our last long ride,
Were heading' for the promised land, up on the Jordan's side.
And then he turned his burro, And slowly turned away,
Across the drifting sand dunes, into the suns bright ray,
I guess he's with the angels, this old prospector grey,
But deep within my memory, I still can hear him say.
(Chorus)
Giddap old burro, the light of Heaven I see,
Giddap, giddap, old burro, For they are beckoning to me.
The pearly gates are open, I hear St. Peter call,
Giddap, giddap, old burro, just one last mile is all.
I hear the angels singing, I see the shepherd too,
Though' we aren’t much to look at, we'll be welcome you and me,
So giddap old burro, we're on our last long ride,
We're heading' for the Promised Land, up on the Jordan's side.

Some fellers favor sunup
just before their day begins,
while others favor eve'nin
when their day is at an end.

But this old cowboy's dif'rent
it's the way I've always been,
cause the time that gets me smilin'
is the time for headin' in.

With a day of work behind me
and before the sunset ends,
it's a quiet and peaceful feelin'
on the trail while headin' in.

There's a breeze that often comes up
as a warm, southwestern wind,
and a glow across the prairie
as I'm slowly headin' in.

Above a hawk is wheelin'
swoopin' down then up again,
as if he wants one final look
'fore he too is headin' in.

My saddle pal don't say much
but he tells me with a grin,
he feels about the same as me
with our ponies headin' in.

Someday this'll all be over
just the prairie, grass and wind,
I hope He'll let me pass this way
when it's time for headin' in.

-Rod Nichols

Caribou Moon

Geoffrey Taylor, in his little poem Cruel, Clever Cat, 1933, used the confusion over the spelling of the word to good comic effect:

Sally, having swallowed cheese
Directs down holes the scented breeze
Enticing thus with baited breath
Nice mice to an untimely death.