it would be yours, by your side.
Together we'd trod the mountains,
down the Mississippi we'd ride.
Along the wide Tuolumne
we'd dig through those hills of gold.
Our best friend would be Bret Harte,
great stories of us would be told.
In those mining hills of Angels Camp,
legends of us would be plenty,
as we'd write of those darned little frogs
that jumped through Calaveras County.
Maybe I'd give you some advice on Tom Sawyer
or write a few lines about Huck.
Between us we'd invent Pudd'nhead Wilson
and we'd gamble on our good luck.
I'd sit by the fire and watch you pen
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.
We'd roam from the rivers to the plains,
and to many a far away port.
Through the years I'd learn to write,
I'd become famous like my friend Mark Twain.
So here's to you, Mr. Samuel L. Clemons,
and I hope someday they'll know my name.
Copyright 2013 Jan Holmes Frost