TRUE LOVE
Robert C. Atkin
The cowboy rode out from the camp
Never even paused to say good-bye
This was a journey he had to take
Or at least he had to try
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A COWBOY STORY
Robert Atkin
Prologue: by a son
I stand here now, where once you stood
But that was nearly a hundred years ago
A mere child of ten years age
No one to love; no place to go
A skinny waif in threadbare clothes
A cardboard case clasped in your hand
An inner strength I can't comprehend
Cut adrift in this cold alien land
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HISTORY REVEALED
Robert C. Atkin
I met him in nineteen-fifty-two
He'd turned a hundred and five years old
Sharp as a tack ; subtle dry wit
A keenness for stories he told
He was born in southern Missouri
Of Indian and Irish descent
A child of free-booters 'n' trappers
Nomads livin' out of a tent
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LEFT OVERS
Robert C. Atkin
Green lakes of buffalo wallows
Lie still on a short grass plain
Ghostly sentinels of soddies
Try not to crumble; but in vain
Succumb to the elements
Wind and rain tear them asunder
Are these voices from the past?
We hear in rolling thunder
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FORK IN THE ROAD
Robert C. Atkin
There comes a time in a young man's life
To saddle up and ride
To discover what lies ahead
In a world so big and wide
Experience all the ups and downs
Face barriers along the trail
Be humble in their victories
Learn from when they fail
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FERTILE EFFORT
Robert C.Atkin
The well is dry ; filled with dust
The creek don't run anymore
Only one mule to pull the plow
And yesterday he came up sore
The sentinels circle silently
Graceful silhouettes against the sky
Soon they will do their dance of life
Feast while others die
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CIRCLE THE WAGONS
Robert C. Atkin
In the dust and heat; stamping of feet
Rippling muscles tensed at the ready
The harnessed four seem ready to war
Driver reins in and tries to hold steady
An interlude of quiet quickly changes to riot
As the klaxon cuts the air like a knife
“Midst whistles and screams, outriders 'n' teams
Erupt; like a volcano to life
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THE HOLE STORY
Robert C.Atkin
All I heard was Pa yell “DUCK”
And I dove to the bunkhouse floor
Then he cocked his old Winchester
And aimed it at the door
There came two roars and a muzzle flash
The sound of shattering wood
Then there was a silence
Pa whispered “I think I got him good “
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LEANIN' ON THE RAIL
Robert C. Atkin
There's a custom out in ranchland
Mostly used while purveyin' a tale
You'll see it practiced by many
It's called “ leanin' on the rail”
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LAST RIDE AT PLUM COULEE
Robert C. Atkin
Early one Sunday we packed up our gear
Loaded up and ready to go
Twenty-two miles on a rough gravel road
Headin' for; The Plum Coulee Rodeo
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DID HE OR DIDN'T HE ?????
Robert Atkin
It was story time at the old “Bar M”
“Windy Bob “ was a holdin' court
He sure was good at turnin' a phrase
But he was an irascible sort
He told the most unbelievable tales
Of course he swore all were “true”
Pity the lout; that paid him doubt
His cussin' made the air turn blue
He said:
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COWBOY'S LAST STAND
Robert Atkin
Young Billy-Jim sat talkin' to Slim
Askin' bout things old and new
Lookin' up at the sky he wondered why
“Where did old cowboys go and what did they do”
Slim kinda smiled and whittled awhile
He spoke after thinkin' a spell
“Cowboys are blessed 'n' it's just a guess
But I'll bet there's no cowboys in hell”
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Pasture Paramour
Robert Atkin
Now common sense and a barb wire fence
Will help keep the livestock at home
Fer what it's worth ain't nothin' on earth
Can hold 'em when they're yearnin' to roam
Everyday; give 'em water and hay
And a block of salt to lick
But when love comes callin', 'n' heifers start bawlin'
Nothin' at all will do the trick
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REPRODUCTION
Robert C. Atkin
Cattle breedin's a real science today
You gotta have good stock if you want it to pay
To be up on the latest was my ambition
I took a course to become an A.I. Technician
I didn't think it would do any harm
But it sure plays hell on a body's arm
Theory and practical I did pass
And finished it all at the top of my class
Then come the following week
The wife hollered out The white-faced heifer's in heat
This was the big chance I'd bin waitin' for
So I grabbed my equipment and flew out the door...
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THE GHOST
Robert C. Atkin
Up on the ridge on a cold winter morn
Cowboys were herdin' some strays
When they spied a cayuse out on the lose
He looked like he'd seen better days
A roman curved snout 'n' ribs stickin' out
All spavined 'n' cow-hocked too
He was kinda red-roany 'n' this slow movin' pony
Seemed undaunted as cattle 'n' cowboys passed through
The cowboys hauled up 'n' reconnoitered a bit
Decided they'd better give chase
This broken down nag would be easy to bag
They'd take him back home to the place
They tightened up leather rode out together
It would take a few minutes at most
But not realizin' this horse they were prizin'
Was the mustang renowned as “The Ghost”
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THE HAT
Robert C. Atkin
The beaver brim hung for years
On a nail by the bunkhouse door
A silent tribute to an old cowhand
Who rode this range no more
Cowboys sittin' round the fire
Spinnin'ns they swore were true
It was outta one of these sessions
The legend of that beaver hat grew
'Twas said that he who donned the lid
Would ride tall among the rest
And the chapters of the history books
Would extol this hero of the west
But yet it hung in grim repose
No takers ; young nor old
Why would this relic of yesteryear
Make a cowboy's blood run cold
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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
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KING OF THE HILL
Robert C. Atkin
My daddy's name is “Pistol Pete”
And I'm his only son
The spittin' image of my old man
And a bull ridin' son-of -a-gun
Last year we went down to Las Vegas town
It was “Bull-A-Rama” you see
A bunch of us boys makin' some noise
The favorites were my pa and me
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REQUIEM FOR AN OUTLAW
Robert C. Atkin
I'm headin' back today from a place far away
And I wonder what I will find
My heart is still 'cuz' just over the hill
Is a life I left behind
Will grandpa be there in that old rockin' chair ?
Dreamin' his dreams of the range
I look over yonder; I ride and I ponder
Why life; so dear; has to change
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Mind Grazing
Robert C. Atkin
The last star faded in the heavens
As I rode in from the graveyard shift
Mist floated above the marshes
The horizon was startin' to lift
The cattle slowly ambled
Down for their mornin' drink
I gave my pony his head
Sat back and started to think
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Impressions
Robert C. Atkin
Moonbeams creep through crevices
Casting about a soft blue glow
Webs form their intricate patterns
Shadows scamper to and fro
Musty scent of decaying wood
All covered in a layer of dust
The once majestic pot-bellied stove
Now surrenders it's lustre to rust
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THE LONG TRAIL HOME
Robert C. Atkin
The whispering white crept through the night
The cold gnawed right to the bone
The eerie hue of cobalt blue
Gave shadows a life all their own
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THE HAZING OF BILLY McCALL
Robert C. Atkin
On Hallow's Eve the BAR M boys
Got the campfire a blazin'
This was the night they had chosen
For Billy McCall's final hazin'
'Twas kind of a ranchhand's ritual
An initiation to the west
To weigh a greenhorn's fortitude
Could he pass the cowboy test
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THE SAGA OF MONTANA LIL
Robert C. Atkin
There was a tough old gal from Kalispell
Went by the handle of "Montana Lil "
Braided black hair; an icy blue stare
A look they said "could kill"
But once in awhile she'd make folks smile
'Twas said she could sing like a bird
With a voice soft and rich in perfect pitch
The sweetest sound you've ever heard
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ABRA-CADABRA
(cowboy Merlin)
Robert C. Atkin
He had an inclination for prestidigitation
And he was slicker than " snot on a rail"
He'd make a quarter disappear; then pluck it out yer ear
And turn water to milk in a pail
There was magic bags and colorful flags
A disappearing dove and a cat
He sawed " old Mabel"; in half; on a table
And of course pulled a rabbit right outta his hat
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WILD HORSES
Robert C. Atkin
Wild horses, wild horses
Are a mystery it seems
Wild horses, wild horses
Are they real or just dreams?
Come sit for a moment
I'll tell you a tale
'Bout wild horses; old cowboys
Out on the trail
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EAGLE DANCER
Robert Atkin
A silhouette cast in the morning sun
Dancing against a fire lit sky
The rolling thunder of unseen drums
Listen; you'll hear the eagle cry
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