Gershon Wolf Poet Narrative

The Range Was His Home

You couldn't rattle Tex
  Ice water in his veins
No one ever saw him wince
  let alone complain

Kept to himself, he did
  Felt life was meant to be hard
Carried his lasso and holsters proud
  Tackled fool rustlers, no holds barred

The range was his home, an honest calling
  One where he gave his cattle free rein
'Til sundown was nigh, when he'd change his tune
  Call in his options, by the light of the moon

Came a day when his ten-gallon hat
  No longer was seen on the range, working at
The craft that he loved, more than life itself
  Tex had roped his last steer, put his reins on the shelf

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Caren Krutsinger January 6, 2021 at 7:15 AM Death has never sounded so lovely, bless this staid cowboy!

Judy Ball January 5, 2021 at 4:20 PM This was both beautiful and sad. It made me think of my long time hero Roy Rogers. I was in love with him from the time I was 5 yrs. old. I loved Trigger and Bullet too. I cried when he and Dale both died. It was the end of an era for me. Great write Gershon. God Bless, JB Gershon Wolf January 5, 2021 at 6:33 PM I was a big Roy Rogers - Dale Evans fan as well. And how 'bout ole Gene Autry, the Singing Cowboy. (He was actually pretty darn good). ~ Comeback Cowboy, gw

Quoth Theraven January 5, 2021 at 7:24 AM Gerson, The sundown comes for both man and beast. Home on the range playing on and on. -Richard Gershon Wolf January 5, 2021 at 7:55 AM Great way of phrasing it in your comment, Richard -- i.e., 'the sundown comes for both man and beast.' Thanks for the visit and the insightful comment. Best always, Gershon