On the Bitterroot

It had been some thirty years, Back when I was young and free— Before I lost all those fears And left to see what I could see. But time can make you humble As you turn into a coot— And come back where you stumble Along that windin’ Bitterroot. Our house’s like a tumbleweed That the night wind somehow saves— Frail and old and gone to seed, Near all the family’s graves. So I’ve followed this river That they named the Bitterroot— Once taker, now a giver And an old bitter man to boot. I’ve come back to find those dreams That cowboys often now lose— Along rivers, lakes and streams And in saloons and cards and booze. But seems some feller once said That you can’t go home again— At leastways till you’re done dead And they ship you where you begin. So now I’m headin’ on out And I may go on a toot— But now I know what life’s about Back there on the Bitterroot.