An American Epic
The autumn sun was gettin' low, the day was mighty windy,
When Hiram shot the hired man that kissed his girl Dorindy.
Them two was in the orchard there,
for apples birds was peckin'
When old man Hiram hove in view
and busted up their neckin'.
The hired man he took it out across the fields and ditches
But Hiram drawed a perfect bead
and shot him in the breeches.
The hired man he flagged it on, for he knew other ladies—
But Robert Frost can write the rest, or he can go to Hades.
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