After catching the opening segment three or four times, I’ve finally gotten to watch a classic western. It has about as much to do with historical fact, as my big toe has with rocket propulsion, but never the less it’s a good portrayal.
In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine
Dwelt a miner forty niner,
And his daughter Clementine.
Oh my darling, Oh my darling,
Oh my darling, Clementine,
You are lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.
Light she was and like a fairy,
And her shoes were number nine,
Herring boxes, without topses,
Sandals were for Clementine.
Drove she ducklings to the water
Ev’ry morning just at nine,
Stubbed her toe against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine.
Ruby lips above the water,
Blowing bubbles, soft and fine,
But, alas, I was no swimmer,
So I lost my Clementine.
In a corner of the churchyard,
Where the myrtle boughs entwine,
Grow the roses and the posies,
Fertilized by Clementine.
Then the miner, forty-niner,
Soon began to peak and pine,
Thought he oughter join his daughter,
Now he’s with his Clementine.
In my dreams she still doth haunt me,
Robed in garments soaked in brine;
How in life I used to hug her,
Now she’s dead, and I draw the line.