Dreams of a Cowboy

      There was a time when the old cowboy lived out all his dreams; the king of the range. His ‘possibles’ tied on behind his saddle, and leading a good string he could always find some companions and a wind tight bunkhouse to throw down his rig...


     You could drift the range, up from Texas, plumb north to Canada’s lands. Forty a month and found was his wages, and a wild night in the town. Doggies didn’t care who nursed them and many a cowboy rode for the brands. Roundup, cutting, branding and the drive; it was all in a month’s pay...


     He rode lonely, with saddle and bridle, a halter or two, a couple of hobbles and a peggin’ sting. Not a heavy requirement, for the tools of his trade. Throw in an old skillet, a coffee pot, ground cloth, a good slicker, and a man could get by. But add in a dog-eared copy of an old King James and many a cowboy had church out under the sky...


      Although many an hour was spent all alone, give him a jaws-harp, harmonica or guitar and he’d manage to get by… but them days a have gone down the river, never to return, for when the farmer brought barbed wire the roving cowboy’s time had gone.

God bless the cowboy, for he helped settle the west; and now is the time to lament the passing of our best…

~ © 2003/2010 David L. Griffith ~
For My Special Lady

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