Lonesome Cowboy
He was a lonesome cowboy, with boots of fine-tooled hide,
His quarter horse a stallion, his trusty faithful ride,
Each evening when the sunset and the doggies settled down,
He made a pot of coffee and laid his poor head down
He'd think about the morning, the cattle drive so hard, and
How the dust and devil’s heat, would steal his dried up heart,
And if you saw him coming, you’d know him from the start,
He’d be the lonesome cowboy, laid on coffin’s cart
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015
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