A Cowboy

Tho the sage has all dried up, 

And there’s nothing left of the bitter brush.

The horses have winter’s hair on their hides,

And the only thing that hasn’t weakened is his mind.

Gone are his years spent out on the range,

Wearing dirt for his clothing and a smile thru his pains.

Broken bones fused wrong are the culprit of his walk.

Oh the stories you’ll hear son, if you can coax him to talk.

His best horse left him for heavenly plains,

And he has dreams at night of visions seen thru his mane.

His heart beats slower but the light in his eye shines bright.

I sure doubt if he’ll give up the fight.

He wears his scars with the same pride that they were claimed.

And his greatest honor is a ‘cowboy’ he is named. 

• Gussie