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Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
Henry Ladder, That’s My Name
Tom Sheehan
I’m climbing me up to the sky,
On my name when I’m to die;
I’ll make it up, oh rung by rung
Singing, Lord, what have I brung?
What have I brung in my pack
I could have left on some lone track,
Some lone trail where the cattle led
And my big black fell awful dead?
Or once like a brazen rookie squire
I left him out in the line of fire,
Left him there in a deadly duel
While I wandered like a fool.
I got the piece he gnawed and chewed
When he thought me mighty rude,
Fed me ‘fore I watered him,
Or checked every sweated limb.
Oh, what have I brung to satisfy
What I’ll be owing when I die? …
A saddle bag that’s short of feed,
Not for him a single seed,
Not his blanket worn so thin
Like the skin he was born in,
Or memories of a saddle sore.
Oh, Lord, there’s so much more;
The night he stood out in the rain
While whiskey women ate my brain,
Made myself think of other stuff
That told me I was never tough,
That I needed more than him
Who stood by me thick and thin.
Now I hope my horse comes by
If you let me near your sky,
For this horse was my better pard
Through times that came up awful hard,
And if by chance I’m riding him,
Perhaps you’ll let these partners in.
If I don’t get past the gate
Make sure my horse doesn’t wait;
Let my horse come up his due
And I’ll be ever thanking You.
I’m climbing me up to the sky,
Henry Ladder about to die.
I’ll make it up, Oh rung by rung
Singing, Lord, what have I brung?
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