Autumn’s Final Call

      The winds of winter blasting cold down on his soul, the old cowboy refused to surrender. Hanging on to the bright colours of one last autumn he steadied himself in the saddle of life. All the days of his life he had taken all the trail had to offer, neither he nor the horse had any quit in them…

      Oh what a ride, what a path, what glory this old hoss and rider had seen; and old man winter could just wait his turn. For there were songs still to be sung, stories to tell around the campfires yet to be built. More lies to be told, more pretty girls to be twirled and a new round of babies to be hugged...

      There remains a hot spark of life in the old cowboy yet, pretty girls to lasso, broncos to be rode, and then came the other side of the mountain. Heaven can wait, and Hades has no teeth, for with his reins between his teeth and a gleam in his weathered old eyes the cowboy is riding ‘hoopity-hellity’ to one last harvest dance...

So God Bless the Cowboys, the devil takes the hind-most and here we come at a gallop for autumn’s final call...

~ © 2003-2010 David L Griffith ~

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