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Old Cowpoke

"Every time I saddle up, mount a trusty steed and head out through the sage."

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Old Cowpoke

I am an old cowboy, yes I am, I grew up on a ranch or farm.

The cattle and other livestock I learned early how to charm.

Growing up, a real cowpoke was all I ever wanted to be.

My brother and I always played Cowboys and Indians with glee.

I was always Gene Autry; Champion was my trusty horse.

My brother was Roy Rogers; he would ride Trigger of course.

With saddles between our legs, mounted on our mighty steeds,

Really a stick from an old broom, we would carry out our deeds.

Around the yard, creating dust, we would lope along and chase

Cattle or other imaginary things, with big smiles upon our face.

We could always play for hours with many of our imagined friends.

Many cattle drives we had, along a dusty trail or fences we had to mend.

Our cattle we had to protect from wild animals, rustlers and much more;

Maybe even a band of painted braves wanting our herd as their own score.

Forever watchful and aware; our herd could be frightened and quickly disband.

Stampede we knew always did exist; our horses rein grasped tightly in our hand.

Ever watchful; we were not wanting our charges falling to the canyon floor below,

We would always move them with a peaceful voice as down the trail we would go.

Keeping them safe was our task, bunched into a tight herd as we let them roam,

We would head `em up quietly and push them along the path, safely toward home.

These fond memories of these good old days inside my mind now displayed

Remembering the tasks at hand are not all that different, never am I dismayed.

Every time I saddle up, mount a trusty steed and head out through the sage.

The pony I now ride upon has not only two legs, to lope on, but four to engage.

Sitting on my horse with other young and old cowboys, reminiscing all the while,

Watching out over the herd while keeping them safe and sound, carrying a smile,

Riding along, laughing together, telling stories, tales and, every now and then, a good joke.

Realizing now that my dreams and desires have all come true; I am an old cowpoke.

Because every time I stare at the reflection in the mirror smiling back at me,

Gazing at the weathered and furrowed brow, an old cowpoke is exactly what I see.

Published 
Written by CKAcres
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