Night Herd

Past a peaceful day out Western Trail way, Our lowing herd settled on coarse sand bars. We hands bunched under prancing prairie stars, Once clean grub tins and cups were put away, For tall yarn desserts, dance, and campfire songs. Lit by burning buffalo chips and sage, Our campfire blazed hot, challenging the dark, Holding at bay the prairie wind’s chill bark. Night herd began with strums of a guitar Backed by a fiddle and an Ozark harp. Cowboys sang of Betsy from Pike’s sweet charms, Dancing do-si-dos with scarves on their arms. Two waddies circled our bedded down herd, Singing Old Paint to the beat of horse hooves, Echoing us boys’ songs by the fire As coyotes chorus to the sparkling sky. Past riding drag, eating dust all day Worn waddies could cough up a few tunes. Our homesick cowboy choir danced and sang Then tiptoed to bed rolls for a few winks Until our turns, on the down low, to croon A sorrowful Red River lullaby For trail weary doggies laying at rest, Promising fresh rich grass in the Big Sky. At the break of dawn, we were up and gone Roping and riding; trying not to yawn. A clear morning sky offered welcome news No thunderstorms, floods, or frosted-up dews. A stove-up drover that morn did advise “Savor your quiet nights and be trail wise For a cowboy’s work is never to cease Before the railhead and cattle’s release. Some year, long paired iron rails must appear With barbed wire strands to encumber our way As Progress closes up loved cattle trails, Dooming open range to vanish away. As the parched summer grass, we too shall fade, Our names lichen covered on graven stone, But breathing as legends we shall live on, Riding trail bred tales our kids will hear.”