Post by wildfire on Jan 26, 2005 9:02:34 GMT -5
The Old Ranch Hand
The old hand shuffles across to the fence
That several young cowboys use for a bench.
He watches the "outlaws" and "broncs" jump and buck.
Riding high, to their saddles the cowboys seem stuck.
He remembers when he was the best of the best
He took no vacations, he never did rest.
Each day when he worked he would circle the herd,
Never spooking at rattlesnakes, squirrels, or birds.
With his partner on cattle drives he always rode drag,
Always keeping his patience with slow cows and calves.
He dreams of singed cowhide and loud bawling steers;
With each tiny sound he pricks up his ears.
He longs for green grass, but before turning away,
He looks back at the corral and lets out a neigh
Of goodbye to the young stock, most of which he sired.
He is a true ranch horse, but of course, he's retired.
8888888888888888888888888
8888888888888888888888888
I thought this was a good poem for a wet day like today!
The poet did a fine job!
The old hand shuffles across to the fence
That several young cowboys use for a bench.
He watches the "outlaws" and "broncs" jump and buck.
Riding high, to their saddles the cowboys seem stuck.
He remembers when he was the best of the best
He took no vacations, he never did rest.
Each day when he worked he would circle the herd,
Never spooking at rattlesnakes, squirrels, or birds.
With his partner on cattle drives he always rode drag,
Always keeping his patience with slow cows and calves.
He dreams of singed cowhide and loud bawling steers;
With each tiny sound he pricks up his ears.
He longs for green grass, but before turning away,
He looks back at the corral and lets out a neigh
Of goodbye to the young stock, most of which he sired.
He is a true ranch horse, but of course, he's retired.
8888888888888888888888888
8888888888888888888888888
I thought this was a good poem for a wet day like today!
The poet did a fine job!
