Just an Old Cowboy ragged and worn
stains on his shirt with jeans thin and torn.
He moved kinda slow and talked slower still
but none of this fooled me
cause he’d tamed these wild hills,
and no man could make it
to his age in these parts.
Without being rugged and unless he was smart.
I entered the cabin and was looking around
when he signaled me over, to come sit down.
He rubbed the fingers of misshapen hands
as rough and gnarled as the lay of the land.
He gazed out the window and started to speak
as he started to going back in time.
He spoke of his horses and then of his wife
reminiscing bout good times he’d had.
He told of their hardship, trouble and strife
that was all a part of the Cowboy life.
Then he spoke of his family
who’d brought him such joy
his beautiful daughters, the birth of their boy.
His eyes teared up and he turned away
saying; ’Loosing my wife,
took the best part of me, that day.’
Well I lost my Old Cowboy in his 86th year.
I still have his picture, and even now I can hear
his gravely voice, see those twinkling eyes.
I still visit his mountain,
cause that’s where he lies. Hansi Riley