Debra Coppinger Hill | + Follow Poet |
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Regret

I’ve seen their spirits ride at night, 
In total darkness and clear moonlight, 
Souls that search for what is right, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     With open heart, determined face, 
Eyes that see a far away place, 
No eternal rest, 'til they run the race, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

    They search across history, 
To return our civil gentility, 
And the way  things ought to be, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     Nothing gets in their way, 
Honor bound by what they say, 
They pledge to bring it back one day, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     Promise made, I over-hear, 
From their mission, they’ll not veer, 
It’s their duty to find, the Lost Frontier, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     I know their voices from my dreams, 
Calling me to come upstream, 
Perhaps, my life, to redeem, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     I must make haste and decide, 
If on this quest, I will ride, 
With them, I know, I can’t backslide, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     I pause...consider...hesitate... 
They ride on. It is too late. 
They leave me with my own mistake, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     Waking, as if, from a trance, 
I cry out for one more chance, 
But they have gone without a glance, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

     I realize they have come before, 
Blazing trails, opening doors, 
To Freedom, Salvation even more, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

    I know these men, I owe a debt, 
I should have gone.  It’s my regret. 
To this day I seek them yet, 
These men that they call Cowboys. 

    So I search for their spirits, late at night, 
In total darkness and clear moonlight, 
And pray for the chance to set things right, 
With these men that they call Cowboys.

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