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Open Poetry #17
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The Good, Old Days
| Open Poetry #17 |
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The Good, Old Days |
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John Yaws Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 860Texas 
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A bedroll and my saddle- A pair of Justin boots. A couple pairs of jeans- And threadbare shirts. A thousand miles from Texas, The land which holds my roots, And all that I hold dear, And man it hurts. Flagstaff in the winter, It was nearly twelve below... The wind out of the North, Cut like a knife! I stood beside I Forty- Near dark, and blowing snow... And thought, "This drifting Ain't no kind of life!" I broke into a restroom, To get out of the wind... I thought, "In cold like this- A man could die!" I needed me a riding job- So I'd have dough to spend... The wrong time of the year, But I could try. I found a job near Winslow, Out on the Bar T Bar- Ten bucks a day, my found- A place to sleep... I lived there in that bunkhouse, And thanked my lucky stars- For work to do, a bed- And grub to eat. Those days are gone forever, But I am really glad... I had my chance- Before they went away... I'm glad I rode the deserts, It really makes me sad... I miss the West... Back in the good, old days. |
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| © Copyright 2001 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
This is a poem to keep and treasure, a memory of the days when life was simpler, but not easier. And I know about those cold winds below zero! OUCH. They really do cut like a knife and make you run for shelter. thank you for sharing this bit of nostalgia. |
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