My City Cowboy
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My City Cowboy
You don't wear boots,
not the fancy ones...
unless there is a;
marriage, birth or death.
Otherwise, it is work shoes,
steel-toed,
and seldom shiny.
Plain or plaid shirt,
maybe a Harley souvenir,
from a ride...
But on Sundays,
mom's perfect handmade vest.
Strong in the bible,
mighty to lend a hand.
someone,
everyone wants to know.
A good man,
a kind man,
the last man to stand down,
the first man to rise.
Tall on his knees,
careful of his pride.
Humble to his brother,
ever to be a friend.
The world has nearly lost,
the plain heroes of our lives.
Clear and still visible,
to us wives!
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2019
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