Star Of The Roundup

A cowboy’s life’s not easy, as he rides across the range. His bed roll on the saddle; his spurs, they bang and clang. A campfire is his cook stove; the stars above, his map. A star of the old roundup, he has to move his cows along. He won’t be fired from any job; he’ll ride the long, long path. Spurred along with thoughts of pay; saddled with a heavy task. With the saddle as his pillow, ‘neath a million stars above; His spurs are quiet for the night; the cows, they’ll graze and rest. Tomorrow he will ride again; beneath old Sol’s scorching rays. The desert fire, it parches; a filled canteen’s on the saddle horn. He rides across the dry, cracked sands; and sleeps under flickering stars. Every cow, he will deliver; now, spurred by nature’s demands. His clinking, clanking boot spurs, kick out to smother the fire. Rounding up the cows again, he mounts his saddled steed. Again he’ll be a roundup star, herding cattle across the range. He’ll ride into the market, with spurs jingling, he’ll dismount. Roundup star will collect his pay and fire up a cigarette. With saddle bags across his shoulder; a well-earned bath and sleep, he’ll get. He’ll ride back home, the lanky roundup star. Spurs quiet in the saddle; he’s bought a new guitar. Sitting by the campfire, cowboy takes some time to play.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 7/4/2018 1:07:00 AM
ML.. Back from a party and wide awake. Need me a few funny, mysterious, interesting, or mellow writes to settle me into a restful state. So glad I came across your poem tonight.. just what I needed!
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Date: 7/3/2018 9:27:00 PM
Great job with this style. A Fav. Just posted a poem.Trying a new style. I would love to get your input.
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