Ione

I have a cabin in the foothills

Of the old Toiyabe range.
To me it is a lovely place —
To you it may seem strange.
My cabin’s kind’a Jerry-built.
It’s made of logs and tin,
But really it’s more home to me
Than any place I’ve been.
Looking out my cabin window,
I can watch the sun that sets,
Or at midnight walk into my yard
And hear a coyote’s frets.
I would not trade my cabin
For gold or anything —
For all the treasures of the world
Or for the palace of a king.
Lonesome? Who, me?
Not as long as I have old “Spot”
To keep me company.
Now this I know, when I must go,
I’ll have to go alone.
My last request will be, “Please bury me
At home in old Ione.”