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Cowboy Forgiveness Poems | Cowboy Poems About Forgiveness

These Cowboy Forgiveness poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Forgiveness. These are the best examples of Cowboy Forgiveness poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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' As Old As East Of Eden ... (A Cowboy Song) Cowboy Poem # 15

          Tears - Are As Old
         … As East Of Eden

           Pain - Is As Old
         … As East Of Eden

          Woes - Are As Old
         … As East Of Eden …

That’s Why The Cowboy … Rides West
And Disappears, Into The Flaming Sunsets …     ( Gen. 3: 23, 24 )

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Tainted love 
or tired love?
Smug attitudes
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!

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As I Close My Eyes

As I Close My Eyes
It’s you I see
with the other woman
I don't understand
why you left me standing alone
I just want you near

As I Close My Eyes
Im hoping you would 
be standing here by my side 
Living life isn't perfect
We all make mistakes
Im here to tell you
I'll do whatever it takes
for you to be in my heart
once again

As I Close My Eyes
 It’s you I only want to share my life with
I want to be your wife
We were up for so many years
Yes, since you left I shed a couple of tears
So tell me why we have to end like this
You are the only one I'll miss

Details | Cowboy | |


I knew his face from a poster, 
That said he was wanted by the law, 
It had little affect on me, 
For I went by what I saw. 

Two eyes of blue looked up at me, 
So thin they looked like steel, 
And a moustache so thick and bushy, 
I wasn't sure if it was real. 

Out on the plains of Kansas, 
It is a hard and fast rule, 
That to take in and hide a wanted man, 
Are the actions of a fool. 

But I'm not known for  my reason, 
Common sense is my only art, 
And it told me I was safe, 
Go on and follow my heart. 

I took him to the old dugout, 
Beside little creek, 
Tended to his bullet wounds, 
Nursed him while he was weak. 

And I kept him there...a secret, 
Made him strong and well, 
An listened to the stories, 
That he began to tell... 

Of his life as a farmer, 
Becoming a raider after the war, 
He'd had a good reason once, 
But couldn't remember "why" anymore. 

When he tried to walk away, 
The band refused to let him go, 
They shot him and left him to die, 
Where I found him in the cold. 

I considered the sins of this man, 
Waged them against my own, 
Knew that for the right reasons, 
My life would have taken a different tone. 

And I knew there was no judging, 
His past actions, or mine, 
For his taking life, and my saving his, 
Were both considered a crime. 

So I hid him, and I'm not sorry, 
For a time he was my own, 
He told me once he loved me, 
I was the closest he had to a home. 

I procured a horse and a rifle, 
Once he was mended enough to ride, 
And politely refused his offer, 
To join him by his side. 

My last glimpse was the back of his hat, 
As he dropped into the draw, 
And I knew I'd not been wrong, 
About the things I saw. 

Deep inside those steel-blue eyes, 
Lay a soul that had changed it's ways, 
And his punishment would be in running, 
Wanted...for the rest of his days. 

And me, I'm still not repentant, 
I'd do it all over again, 
For sometimes Outlaws ain't evil, 
Sometimes they're just men, 

Who started out with good intentions, 
And no matter what they may be, 
The final call to judgement, 
Won't come from you or me. 

Because all of us are sinners, 
By bad luck or circumstance, 
And the only way out is common sense, 
Prayer and a second chance. 

So, pray with me for the Outlaw, 
Cheer him on in his second try, 
And start your prayer with the words, 
"But for the Grace of God, there go I..." 

Details | Cowboy | |

That Old Heartpine Gate

So cinch tight my shimmering dark sorrel
With fine hand-tooled saddle of silver inlay—
I’ll pull on my calfskin chaparajos
And through that old heartpine gate I’ll ride away.

I’ve been too long on this sagebrush prairie.
Through many a rancho gate welcome and not—
With some I stayed and herded and prospered,
While with some I gave up much more than I got.

But I’ve rode toward that last gate in my life
And next that rosadero I’ll sit for awhile—
Until that bright entryway swings open
And I ride in meek and accepting as a child.

So cinch tight my shimmering dark sorrel
With fine hand-tooled saddle of silver inlay—
I’ll pull on my calfskin chaparajos
And through that old heartpine gate I’ll ride away.

Details | Cowboy | |

Old Rance Buckley's Trophy Buckle

He always wore that rodeo buckle made of silver and gold,
Every day of his life from when he was young till he grew old.
It said he was bucking horse champion of nineteen fifty-three,
And he told all the cowboys he had been the best that could be.

But then one day a stranger comes to town ‘bout as old as old Rance,
Who listened to his stories in silence and then eyed him askance.
He asked old Rance some questions ‘bout his times in rodeo—
Like horses he rode; cowpokes he knew and things he should know.

Then old Rance got defensive and asked just who was this cowboy gent
That asked him all these funny questions ‘bout days so long ago spent.
“Why,” drawled the old cowpoke, “I spent time here in fifty-three or two,
Ridin’ in rodeos you mentioned, but I don’t remember you.”

“And I don’t seem ta recollect you,” old Rance said and eyed the poke.
“Name’s McCall,” the stranger said, “and I ran that rodeo, no joke.”
Well, old Rance’s face fell and he knew his jig was up at long last—
Trying to pass that buckle off as his own, in one long last gasp.

He’d won that trophy buckle at cards from a cowboy on his last legs—
Why he started calling it his own, I reckon the question begs.
Now the other cowpokes gathered ‘round with wonder in their clear eyes
At why old Rance had shot the bull for years and told them all those lies.

Then a strange thing happened, as McCall realized just what he had done,
“Wait a minute, fella,” he said, “weren’t you the kid nicknamed ‘Young Gun?’”
And though he never had such a name, old Rance just nodded and grinned.
“I remember you now, you were the best – you rode just like the wind!”

Old Rance and McCall became pards, though Rance toned his bragging down,
But when new rodeos started, all the young cowboys gathered ‘round.
Then right before old Rance passed on, he gave that buckle to McCall
And told him he weren’t good at cards, that buckle was his after all.