A TIRED OLD COWBOY
I've hung up my spires,
On the old bunkhouse wall.
My lasso I hung there too,
And I put old paint in his favorite stall.
My branding days are over,
And I left the sage brush on the plain.
My saddle bags are empty,
So never more, need I ride the range.
My saddle blankets are frayed,
My chaffs are all worn out.
I have holes in the souls of my boots,
And my joints are filled with gout.
The coyote howls from the mountain top,
The long horns graze in herds,
The wolves still bay at the moon,
And damn-it I stepped in buffalo turds.
Now that
I have retired to the bunk
house,
And all my chores are done at last.
I'll fill my tin cup with drippins,
And drink
till I get to the bottom of the cask.
By the old range rider
OLD Les
OLD
LES IN TIME
Visit My Web Site
www.geocities.com/lmwillson
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