Michael Martin Murphey O Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie
"Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,"
These words came low and mournfully
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
On his dying bed at the close of day.
"It matters not, so I've been told,
Where the body lies when the heart grows cold;
But grant, oh, grant this wish to me:
Bury me not on the lone prairie.
"Bury me not on the lone prairie
Where coyotes howl and the wind blows free;"
In a narrow grave six foot by three,
bury me not on the lone prairie,"
"Oh, bury me not--" And his voice failed there,
But we took no heed of his dying prayer;
In a narrow grave just six by three
We buried him there on the lone prairie.
And the cowboys now as they roam the plain --
For they marked the spot where his bones were lain --
Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave,
With a prayer to God his soul will save.