Sitting in a cafe, an old man said to me-
ďI know you fer a cowboy, that much is plain to see.
I bet you sure can fan a bronc, and ride a bad bull, too-
You sure put me in mind of me, when I was young like youĒ.
I didnít give an invite, but he pulled up a chair-
And pulled his old black Stetson off, revealing silver hair.
ďI hail from up in Idaho, not fur from Corí dí lane-
Aní askiní for a bait of grub shore goes agin the grain.
I used to ride the rough stock, and followed rodeo-
I made it to the Finals, back in Ď54, or so....
Age and breaks shore slowed me down, I finíly had to quit-
But I been giviní lots of thought to going back to it.
I think Iíve got a few more rides, just one more go around-
I know Iím old, Iíve got to try, before they put me down-
A few more miles Iíd like to drive, more dirt beneath my boots-
I have to have a few more times, at cominí out the chutesĒ.
I paid the tab, and left the tip; we walked across the floor-
I handed him a fifty, as we walked out the door....
He grinned and said, ďIím much obliged, Iíll catch you in CheyenneĒ.
And climbed into a beat-up truck, we never met again.
He more than paid the fifty back with his hard earned advice-
I know Iíve lived a fuller life thatís had a lot more spice...
A few more rides, a few more roads; new dirt beneath my boots-
Like him, Iíd like a few more times aí comin out the chutes.
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