I am not quite a genuine cowboy
but I know that somewhere deep down inside
If I had only been born way back when
I could surely punch cows, rope, brand and ride

I always wanted to be a cowhand
Oh what a glorious life that would be
riding along with the herd cross the land
living a life that was simple and free

I’d rise before the sun started to shine
ride all day under the sweltering heat
fifteen hours a day for nearly no pay
just a biscuit and a few beans to eat

I could help a thousand head to birth calves
with cold wind a blowin’ rain down my back
or ride along a thousand miles of fence
spend a winter in a leaky line shack

When on a drive and “breakin’ day” gets called
though I was froze stiff, wet, muddy and damp
I’d roll out of bed to stretch these old bones
they would hear the popping clear cross the camp

I s’pose that now I think hard about it
maybe cowboyin’ just ain’t quite right for me
Perhaps I’ll stay here in my writer’s room
Riding the range through cowboy poetry

‘Prairie Time’- a collection of poems and prose from a wannabee cowboy

copyright 2020