The Stafford Inn of Prineville,
Its decor is of time before.
Ropes and spurs and Western hats
Horses running, cattle grazing near a stream
All featured in pastoral art.

Gateway to the richest mine
Of mountains, lakes and desert lore.
Where once passed wagons on their way
To build the ranches we know today.

Pony soldiers trod this road
To guard the gold of Canyon City,
Sumpter and Grand Ronde,
And keep the peace along the way.

Men once camped where Stafford is
Cattle bawled and horses pranced.
Liquor flowed and cowboys danced
With girls their mothers wouldn't like.

Stafford Inn, quiet and sedate,
Treats its guests like gentry
And does not boast of days gone by
It only hints with its decor.

(from Too Much St. John's Wort, Poems by Richard Logan,
reproduced with author's permission)