He got word the old cowboy was nearin' th' end
of th' hard trail he'd rode. He had ta see his old friend.

When he got there th' Doc said, " Ya aint got much time.
"He's got some words for ya, an' he's put 'em ta rhyme."

Th' old cowboy was smilin'. White teeth shined like stars
in that kak-leather face, decorated with scars,

and deep lines, an' wrinkles, from summers an' winters;
ridin into th' wind.Eatin' sand, bugs, an' splinters.

Those spring-sky blue eyes that calmed colts an' charmed women,
were sunk deep in their sockets. Like blue marbles a' swimmin'.

But they still had that mis-cheevus twinkle about 'em.
"Come closer, young poet, I don't feel like shoutin'".

He patted th' bed with that huge gnarled up hand
that looked so out of place on that little old man.

"Set cher pockets ri'cheer. I got somthin' ta say.
"Won't take very long. Then I'll be on ma way."

He said,

"Ride hard an' rope what ya may while ya can.
Dream BIG, an' race fer that sunset, young man.
"Don't let th' years pass; Chase 'em down. One by one.
And you can count on them mem'ries when yer ridins all done."

Th' young cowboy (slash) poet grew long in th' tooth.
He treasures th' mem'ries of his bold, reckless youth.

He'll never fergit that ole cowboy's last phrase.
Ask his advice now... This anthem, he'll raise:

He'll say,

Ride hard an' rope what ya may while ya can.
Dream BIG an' race fer that sunset, young man.
Don't let th' years pass; chase 'em down. One by One.
And you can count on them mem'ries when yer ridin's all done.

Dave Watson © 2004 This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

~ Poem n' Pen ~