All In A Lifetime
Sit back and listen as this story I tell
Of a two-bit town and an old hotel.
She was built way back in 1842,
When the West was young and the town was new.
She was first created as a common saloon,
Where the men drank hard and never hit the spittoon.
Years went by, she began to wear down.
Life was sure tough in that little town.
Barroom business was taking itís toll.
Her windows lost their shine, her roof sprung a hole.
Then she was abandoned, left all alone,
Deserted, dumped, forgotten, unknown.
For years she sat and withered away,
But no need to worry, help was on itís way.
A New York lady came way out West.
She eyed the building, swore sheíd do her best.
The lady went to work, scrubbed hard as she could,
Until the shimmer and shine came back to the wood.
A gradual change crept over the place,
She began to look pretty, a smile touched her face.
A good coat of whitewash did the gal wonders.
New curtains stood bright even in the thunder.
From hard used saloon into a homelike hotel.
Her roof no longer leaked; gosh she looked swell.
Folks began moving into that little old town.
Ones who minded their vowels, knew their verbs from their nouns.
The little hotel moved up in society.
Gents and ladies came for their afternoon tea.
In the same room that wild cowboys had once practiced their vice,
A pastor told of God and the Supreme Sacrifice.
The little hotel was doing quite well.
She stood many more years, but her age didnít tell.
She calmly sat and saw history go by,
Wars were fought, and men built planes to fly.
Then came the crash of '29,
The hotelís life was put on the line.
The little town she was in began to disappear,
As people went searching for jobs, ruled by fear.
Through loaned money and deals gone bad,
The hotel was lost, it was all mighty sad.
She became part of a lonely ghost town.
She shivers and shakes come sundown.
I know it looks bleak, perhaps itís the end,
But something changed around the next bend.
For years and years the town sat thus,
Falling into ruin, gathering dust.
It was in sorry shape when I came upon it,
In old fashioned jeans and singing a sonnet.
Now the little town is thriving once more.
Itís all fixed up, hotel, stable, general store.
A Wild West town it was made to stay,
To help remember history and yesterday.
The little hotel is the center of it all,
And all the re-enactors have themselves a ball.
So you see my story comes to an end.
You never know whatís around the next bend.
Why did I fix the town up and not another?
That New York lady was my Great Grandmother.
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