Monday, February 23, 2009

Of the West

The scent of sweat and horses
Fills the dry and rugged plains
As I chase the weary herd and
Turn my pony with the reins.

I can hear the shouts and whistles
See the cattle fall and rise
As the sun grows ever hotter
And the dust blows in my eyes.

Rigid leather burns my skin and
Sweat is dripping from my brow.
My canteen is all but empty
And there is no stopping now.

We will drive them all to market
We will get there mighty late
Bet my lasso, spurs, and saddle
When we drive them through the gate

That Old Larry sure will short us
Or at least he'll surely try
Cause he ain't an honest trader
Got a mean and shifty eye.

Don't know why I am a cowboy
Don't know why I don't just quit
But I've done this nigh ten years now
And I'm getting used to it.

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