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Show The morning stars are rising, I still hear the old cook roar, "Roll out and get them horses, boy, that's what you're hired for." I'd crawl out of my blankets, always half asleep put on my hat and britches, in the east the daylight creeps. Before I got my boots on, I'd have to stomp around, I'd go untie the night horse and I'd pull my old hat down. The horse would crouch and quiver, I was always some ashamed, the way my knees would tremble, as I took the slack from the bridle reins. I'd step up in the saddle and his head would drop from sight, he'd buck and squeal and beller, put up one awful fight. I tried to stay above him and spur him in the side, and I want to tell you, Mr., he learned this button how to ride. As soon as he'd had his fun, Lord, how we'd go from there a-flyin' through the sagebrush, how we split the morning air. We had to have the horses before the day's work could begin and there's no time I remember when we failed to bring them in. Those good old days have vanished, far in the distant past but I've got a lot of memories, of the times that couldn't last. I still see those old cowboys, still hear the carefree yell burned deep within my memories, the days I loved so well. I fancy I'm sittin' on a cow horse, headin' down some rocky slope, duckin', dodgin' cedars, a loop in my old grass rope. The rocks would sure be rolling, as we come off a mountain side, a big steer out in the lead, just driftin' with the tide. Those days are gone forever, only one place they're still at is in some old man's memories underneath a greasy hat. Mother and my sisters have long since moved to town, my sisters they have scattered, in different states around. For many years Dad's been a-sleepin', out in his golden land, no, there weren't no statues of him, all he had was work-worn hands. But I know he is a-restin' for he went before the change, now all I've left is memories of what once was open range. Melvin L. Whipple Cowboy Poetry From Utah 33 |