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Show Then spring work will all be finished. Oh, that glorious happy day! Then I'll spit on both my hands and start in on the hay. Now if my mind has wandered and I've made a dirty slip, Then understand right here, my friend, I do not give a , And if you do not like it, to me it's just as well, You can take it straight or leave it or simply go to hell! Vern Mortensen THE WEST THAT WAS This was the west that used to be, ranges that stretched afar, Of drought and blizzard and searing heat and rain and the morning star; New green grass in the early spring, of dust and the smell of leather; The weary days of the long trail drives in the best or worst of weather; The spooky herd when the wind was high, the lightning's crash and thunder Of the blue black skies, the twinkling stars to watch and dream and wonder; The feel of a horse between the knees as the rider "sits tall" in the saddle, The plaintive moan of thirsty cows, the sounds and smell of cattle; Of the beef and beans off the old tail gate, coffee and "dough gods" for eating; The banter and fun and the brutal days when rider and horse take a beating. This was the West that used to be and will never be again, Unfenced ranges, roundup fires, horses, cattle, and men. Vern Mortensen Cowboy Poetry From Utah 109 |