John F Keane’s For Robert E Howard: The Miscast Man by GM Jon

A state of oil towns, longhorns, hurricanes; a Lone Star beacon burning bright and proud; resplendent with what glory yet remains and shrines to heroes fallen, but unbowed   A massive epic sprawled across the West, the sturdy stem of north America; its gracious space with raw abundance blest and rugged beauty reaching leagues afar   Praise the poet forged in ancient fire, Writing legends till the lamps expire   Behold this miscast man – outside his time; Behold this miscast man – the motor runs; Behold this miscast man – a darkling mind; Behold this miscast man – the deed is done   A secret Texas haunts the edge of sight: primeval earthworks guarding strange remains and desert ghost towns brooding in the night; a Cross Plains poet lost in wayward pain   Praise the poet forged in ancient fire, Writing legends till the lamps expire   Praise the poet forged in ancient fire, Writing legends till the lamps expire