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Cowboy Poetry
END OF AN ERA
(The death of the cowboy)
Robert C. Atkin
Cowboys are a tight knit group, it's their salvation on the range
Strangers are received with caution. They don't readily adapt to change
They're prone to accept the familiar. Old trails , old horses, old friends
Wide brims, worn saddles and bedrolls. Ignoring the modern day trends
They are blessed with sense and fortitude, not overly endowed with ambition
Ride the herds 'n' through deeds -not words- uphold the western tradition
Their hardiness calms a rank cayuse, tenderness soothes a newborn calf
Their emotions run the gamut; from tears to havin' a laugh
In their world that is constantly shrinking, there's very few trails left to ride
Roundin' up strays has gone by the way, eyes reflect sadness deep down inside
The fires don't burn so bright anymore' spurs jingle a bit outta tune
Those loops that flew once straight and true, now grab air and tighten too soon
The brands are rapidly disappearin', irons hang rustin' on the post
Old twisters talk in the present; while greenhorns only see ghosts
The beauty that surrounds them is truly something they admire
White crosses cast their shadows; See old cowboys never really retire
Will their way become extinct ? Will progress cause it to die ?
Will legend and song still tell the tale ;of an era; that came 'n' quickly passed by ?
When this earth's magical days are over and it succumbs to the coldness of night
One lone figure will ride to the hilltop and that COWBOY WILL BLOW OUT THE LIGHT.
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