The Western Sky
By Gunslinger
A cup of hot, black coffee- To stir my brain to life. I’d go to saddle horses, After waking up my wife. She’d be busy cooking breakfast- I was topping off the mounts. We would talk while I was eating- It’s the little things, that counts. I would work from daylight-thirty, Until the moon was high. In rain, and snow, and bitter cold- Or beneath a blazing sky. I never made big money- That’s one thing I can’t claim... But I was an working cowboy, That’s my only claim to fame. I’ve been thrown, and kicked, and busted I’ve been stomped, and rolled upon And I’ve got behind some broom-tails, I’m afraid that I’ve walked home. I wouldn’t take a fortune- For those days out on the range... But since I’ve moved back into town, My outlook sure has changed. I’m always in a hurry- I’ve far too fast a pace... From dawn to dusk you’d almost think We ran some kind of race. So when I’m gone, carve on the stone- “He had a lot of try!” And cover me with sandy loam Beneath that Western sky. Written January 30th, 2002 © on Jan 29 2002 04:58 PM PST, John R. Yaws 0 • 10
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"A cup of hot, black coffee-..."