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Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
OLD
John Duncklee
She was one of the old ones with rings on each horn
Hide close to her bones
Cockleburrs matting her tail, cholla on her nose
In her eye a look of forlorn
Face all wrinkled, knees worn bare
Joints between old bones snapped as she ambled
Dust billowed round her hooves with each step
Alone with age, no one to share
No stopping for rest or shade
Sun burning toward mid-day
Hot dust covered her hocks, no breeze to wisk it away
She remembered the little ones who had jumped and played
Once a year she'd gone off from the rest
To the head of a canyon and grassy knoll
To bring new life and lick it clean
Nosing it close to the warmth of her breast
They grew and went off on their own
Some remained with seldom a glance
Then little ones bounced at their sides
But now she was alone
Womb barren, hair dull with age
She walked apart, never reaching the grassy heights
At water she drank and left, outcast
To search for feed among the sage
Down the arroyo's winding trail
Plodding steadily through heavy sand
Not far now, just around the bend
Flanks drawn and frail
She remembered roundups, shouting men
Impatiently pushing to the dusty corral
The metallic clicking as the gate closed, locked
The restless milling in the cutting pen
Bawls of little ones weaned
Echoed by mothers desperate, robbed
The long trail back, hopeless with despair
To the end of the canyon, a new one to lick and clean
She stopped and looked at the dry water-hole
The rains would come again
And fill the represo that now held dust
But weeks remained, drought would take its toll
All day she stood neath burning desert sky
Waiting in vain for thunderhead and life
She seemed to know as she turned to leave
For the head of the canyon, to die.
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