Last Smoke

The cow herd’s not quite a stirrin’ On this dew-crusted western land, There’s an orange-yellow sunrise Above the dull green pinion’s stand. The cowboy cups his match’s flame And brings life to cigarette’s glow— It warms his soul and soothes the ride Down all the trails that they must go. He can smell the biscuits bakin’, He can hear the cookie cursin’— The cattle’s wakin’ up it seems And soon they’ll have to take nursin’. And like one mighty animal They’ll start a movin’ down the trail— On their way clear to Wichita— Sold off and loaded on the rail. He cups the match again in hand As the red blaze lights up his face— He’ll linger now but a moment, Then ride off to another place. But that’s for but one brief moment As he puffs smoke in mornin’ air— He’ll grab some chuck then mount again To feel the wind dance through his hair.