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THE OLD WOODEN WINDMILL (cowboy poetry)

Sat on top of High Lonesome Hill
It would scream, cry, lacked grease and oil
The lonely sound as the mountain wind would blow
Pumped ice cold water, thirsty cows would drink their fill
In the summer time, the Sun would boil
Still pumping even in the snow

Built out of oak timber
Many years ago, strong as the day was long
Storms come and go, still standing tall
Never missed a day of work since I can remember
And singing it's mournful song
For a bunch of thirsty cows, it was "Cattle Call"

The road there was an old dry creek bed
In the oak trees, the deer would hide
I would ride there on a buckskin bay
For hours of dreaming and resting my head
All that was yesterday

Windmill spin as you pump the cowboy's gold
With a piece of beef jerky, a no finer meal
If that could only happen again
Like the memory that only a cowboy can hold
That old spinning windmill wheel
It was Heaven without any sin

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Date: 8/20/2009 6:33:00 PM
You've done it again. Bring the reader back to the Old West using the old Windmill that has seen it all. Very nice imagery, wording and rhyming, Danny. Thanks for sharing the colorful old West, Caroline.
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Date: 8/20/2009 3:53:00 AM
Very descriptive and inviting poem. It draws the reader in to more. Keep writing. Sara
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