Category: Cowboy Poetry

See that ranahan sittin’ over there Cheerful as hell without a care? Last night in a red-hot poker game We were playing it close, but he looked the same He

They sing of the puncher — that knight of the range who rounds up the bellerin’ steer; Who rides at the head of the midnight stampede with nary a symptom

Have you ever ridden on a night so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face? Much less a fence—but your pony stops, so you get off

This is the song that the night birds sing As the phantom herds trail by, Horn by horn where the long plains fling Flat miles to the Texas sky. Oh,

The cattle and horses got fed first That was a tradition at our place Christmas in cow country Without that hectic urban pace Each of our ponies got an apple

When he wants to retire, if a cowboy is your spouse Remember that you’ll have him hangin’ round the house He’s underfoot all day, and like a two-year-old he asks

All his life he’s been there for his daughter He’d hold her and rock her to sleep And waltz her around in the kitchen To a long-forgot 3 a.m. beat

  We’d made a wild and hard old run A thousand miles or more And I’m sittin’ high in the average With just one pony more On his withers sat

When it comes to feedin’ calves There’s a lot of things one needs Like sheltered corrals and drainage, Clean water and good feed. And in spite of k.d. lang, Much

I was feeding my horses On a Christmas Eve night When I saw in the distance A dim glowing red light This pale light kept coming ’Til I saw the

Worn from riding through dark hours Circling the herd, Daring not to light a match Or speak a sudden word The night rider gazes ‘cross the range Seeking dawn’s first