The Last Time You Rode the Range

Written by: Glen Enloe

It was a small forgotten town
With general store and a grange,
Where a small boy asked the old man:
“When’s the last time you rode the range?”

The old cowpoke just paused and grinned,
And puffed on his old briar pipe—
He thought kids these days didn’t care,
With minds all full of games and tripe.

But here was a boy that did care,
And that hung on his every word—
That wanted to be a cowboy—
Of that one fact, he was assured.

“Son, it was back in the ‘30s,
A long time fore your folks was born—
It was the last gasp of the West,
Fore towns made the range forlorn.

“A man could ride on forever
On a wide range that did not end—
Just a man, his horse and his God,
And the free wind that was his friend.

“Yes, a man knew who he was then—
About life there was no debate—
There was right and wrong and true love—
And when called he was never late.”

But Jess,” the boy asked once again,
“When’s the last time you rode the range?”
The man smiled, but held back a tear,
“When I got old and the world got strange.”