The Coyote

CROUCHING in his monkish gray, Crunching at his dying prey, Furtive eyes and pricking ears, Haunted by a hundred fears!-- Yet the cotton-tail trembles to see him pass With his pat pat patter on the parching grass!

Lolling tongue and panting sides,-- ’Mid the tawny grass he hides. Lowered is his bushy tail, Keen of snout he sniffs the trail; But he yelps and howls like a mad thing at night, With his kai yi yi in the moon’s dim light.

Friendless prowler, sage-brush thief, Hunted rover, desert chief! Even you who friendless roam Have a loving mate at home,-- And her little ones yelp in their lair with delight As she pat pat patters anear through the night.