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Show Sometimes while we'd lie beneath the stars And watch the coming of another day, We'd wish for a string of cattle cars And hay to feed along the way. The method's changed much, now, today; The "trailing" is mostly done by trucks. The cattle have learned to ride the sway, As the "puncher" dodges rocks and chucks. No doubt it's much the better way, But even it meets with disaster. The rustler also has his day, And does his "rustlin'," easier, faster. I never thought I'd miss it though, It's been so long, it seems so strange; The sand and tumbleweeds still blow And heat waves dance across the range. Now as I sit and reminisce, And watch a sparkling pair of eyes, I feel a soft caress and kiss, Then I return to paradise. Frank Lemon Cowboy Poetry From Utah 95 |