Open Poetry #46 |
Why Cowboys Are a Dying Breed |
Gunslinger Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 901TX, USA |
I blew into East Texas, with my spurs, and boots, and chaps- A suitcase and a bedroll, and not much more than that. A yearning in my heart for places, I had never seen- A cowboy in his twenties, who was bound to chase his dreams. It soon became apparent that riding jobs were few- And an aching in my belly told me I had best make do. So I turned my hand to this and that, most anything that paid For cowboy is state of mind, they're born, they're never made. I chased across the country, and I finally found a ranch- They hired me as a puncher, said they'd give me a chance. I worked from daylight thirty to well into the night- For fifteen bucks a long, hard day, and a house that was a sight. The cracks in that old ranch house were so big and wide You could sling a cat right through them, then follow him outside. I worked there for a month or so before I even found There were times to go to work, and times for shutting down. I was stomped, and throwed, and rolled upon, by cows and horses too I'd aged about a dozen years, when only working two. I'd always beat the sun up, and quit when moon was high- I stayed so doggoned tired, I'd a had to rest to've died. The boss did me a favor, the way he seen it all- I should have paid for getting to round up in the fall. I should have worked for nothing, for such a jam-up boss! By the time I sacked my gear up, it was all a total loss. He cured my foolish notions, of a cowboy getting fat- Or dressing without patches, and foolishness like that. It was the darndest cowranch, this puncher ever see'd- But now I know why cowboys are a dying breed. |
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© Copyright 2010 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
viking_metal Senior Member
since 2007-02-02
Posts 1337In a Jeep, Minnesota. |
Ain't much fun being a real cowboy. Fall in love early, fall in love often. |
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