Cowboy Tales
By Gunslinger
I was sitting in the bunkhouse- With “Sunny Jim” Malone... Outside the rain was falling, And we both were far from home. Early Sunday morning, The coffee strong and black, I said, “It’s better settin’ here- Than in some old line shack .” We started tellin’ stories- Of the places we had worked. Of dinks, and solid horses, And hands who hadn’t shirked... Of wrecks, and them near misses- That make a person think, And of a hundred cowboys- Who’d drowned themselves with drink . We talked of good bronc riders- And men good with a rope. About the things the Good Book says, To give a rider hope... We talked of places we had been And girls that we had loved, And how we’d saddled up and left When push turned into shove . We’d talked of driving cattle- And going to the sales... We whiled away the hours, With our old, cowboy tales. Written January 31st, 2002 © on Jan 30 2002 03:58 PM PST, John R. Yaws 0 • 10
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"I was sitting in the bunkhouse-..."