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Poem

Hides, hooves and horns.
A windin’, bawlin’ column
Snakes its way along the trail,
Flowing ever northward,
To keep a rendezvous,
With westward reachin’, black steel rails.
                                              
Through sun parched drought,
Through deadly storms,
Through blindin’, prairie rain,
We keep the dogies movin’.
From dawn to dusk we push them
On their way to catch a train.
                                            
This boilin’, Texas dust
Would choke a horny-toad,
Not to mention my weary nag.
These are the times that try my soul,
These blindin’, gaspin’, tortured times--
The days when I ride drag.
                                               
“Keep them beasties movin’!"
I hear the trail-boss cry,
"Give ‘em no quarter nor relief--
The gals in Dodge await your tin,
And the wealthy, city folks back east
Are a-hungerin’ for beef."

Then, with longhorns bedded down,
The stars come out to play.
A coyote serenades his mate
While we waddies gather 'round the fire
To feast on hardtack-bread and beans
Heaped high upon our rustin’ plates.
                                         
Time now, to wrap my weary bones
In my blanket, 'neath the sky,
And dream of the time that's comin’ soon
When, with a bath and store-bought duds,
I'll blow my earnin’s from the trail
In some wild, railhead town saloon.

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