They are our last frontier. They shot the railway-train when it first came, And when the Fords first came, they shot the Fords. It could not save them. They are dying now Of being educated, which is the same. One need not weep romantic tears for them, But when the last moonshiner buys his radio, And the last, lost, wild-rabbit of a girl Is civilized with a mail-order dress, Something will pass that was American And all the movies will not bring it back.

They are misfit and strange in our new day, In Sixty-One they were not quite so strange, Before the Fords, before the day of the Fords⁠ ⁠…