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                  Welcome To The Bullpen
                   
                  PUNCHERS 
                  Floyd Henderson 
                   
                  Wearing fatigue like their shrouds 
                  But stiffly sitting saddles proud 
                  Endlessly riding with dust and heat 
                  That pounds on heads, trying to beat 
                  These men of steely gaze and iron wills 
                  As they work baked plains or piney hills 
                  To comb cussed critters out of the breaks 
                  Bearing up and pushing on whatever it takes 
                  Thankful for fifteen miles trailed in a day 
                  With beef and beans their stomachs' pay 
                  And coffee black as sin to bolster wills 
                  Beaten hard by days that test the skills 
                  And bend punchers' minds to bitterness 
                  Against their war with this wilderness 
                  To wrest a living from sun-baked plains 
                  With only paltry wages for their pains. 
                   
                  
  
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                REVIEW 1
  
                
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