The Old Hands

Floyd Henderson

They stare without seeing from old rheumy eyes
Past decades to the days of their young glories
That all these young smart alecks call lies
And snort with laughter at all of their stories

Of days on the trails in a life spent risking
Life and limb against deadly critters and men
Or daring daily perils of Nature while whisking
Over snow-capped peaks or parched prairie plain
To finally reach those dusty old cow towns
Where hard won wages could vanish in a night
Of whiskey and women to banish the frowns
These vaqueros wore in their two-month fight
To get those slab-sided fleabags to markets
That flourished wild and wooly but shortly
As merchants and townsfolk with full pockets
Hired lawmen to make cowboys act more courtly
Until the old men have come to this sad state
Of regaling wannabes who were born too late
To know how sadly they were robbed by Fate
By never having been an old hand's saddle mate.