An old cowboy tips his hat
To the morning sun.
He sits tall in his saddle
To watch coyote run.
On top o’that grassy knoll
He sits his bay gelding,
Taking careful eye to valley below,
No movement was he missing.
The years, catching up to him,
But only his face will show,
New wrinkles form each year,
In Winter with the snow.
He married only once,
A beautiful Irish lady.
She still cooks his meals and
Her love, shown daily.
Five children, grown and gone,
But visit now and again,
Though acquaintance is strong,
Place feels empty without them.
Old memories lay deep
Within his deeded land,
This same deed his
Father before him ran.
Sitting high now,
Overlooking it all,
Knowing some day soon
His time will call.
Many a rough time
He did fight
Looking back now, a
Rather satisfied life.
He moves a little slower,
Little less ambition,
Five of his blood, eager
To carry on tradition.
With this thought in mind, he
Spurs the ol’ gelding on,
Riding away, he softly whispers
Words to an old, sweet song.

J.G.W.
1993