When a cowboy’s crossin’ over
Does he sit in a rockin’ chair
Thinking of the mistakes he made
And times he lost?
Not this breed of man,
He’s thinking of cattle
And old saddles
And all the good ol’ days.
Words of comfort aren’t needed
No grief gets a hold.
No tears blur his vision
‘Cause his destination is known.
His heart is at peace,
His body’s now strong
His youth is renewed.
With no more pain in his back,
He can ride and rope
and gather strays all day.
He’ll be workin’ with
The best rounders.
They’re there waitin’
For him in the thereafter.
He’s a young man once more
Ridin’ with a grin.
His old horse is saddled.
With a jingle of spurs
A slap of the reins
He heads down the trail
Towards Heaven's plains.

"back in those days
I woulda made one helluva gambler
sitting in a saloon drinking
out of a trough
spitting infront of where
the kid is going to mop"


wrote this 2 days ago. this is just a fragment of what i was writing. I scrapped the rest. this was my favorite part and coincidentally i can't write about cowboys without thinking
of you and your writes mteagle.

now, here's the cowboy touch, it had been missing as of late