The Cowboy
The cowboy spends his life
In the wide open plains,
With chaps on his legs
And his hands on the reigns.
The saddle beneath him,
The rope in his hands,
He rides on his horse
Over wide open lands.
His horse is his companion,
His lover, his bride.
He treats her with respect,
Compassion and pride.
He spends his day riding
And roping the cows;
His home is the range,
His chores are his vows.
He’s just a simple man,
Not one of great means.
He lives off of jerky,
And coffee, and beans.
He rests in the shade
Out of the hot noonday sun;
Cooks his beans on the fire,
His dinner for one.
He sleeps on a blanket
Out under the stars.
He has no need for riches,
Computers or cars.
Does he envy you or I
In plush chairs where we sit?
No, I don’t think so,
Not one little bit.
He’s got no freeways, no traffic
No bosses, no lies,
Just the beauty of nature
Under wide open skies.
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Poetry page #3
