Cowboy poetry has a long tradition in the American West. Like most things the poetry has tall tales about how it became such a tradition. Like the “bards” of Europe it became a way to tell history, deal with deep thoughts and humorous takes.
For Sunday we thought we would give wild horses a moment in this Western tradition.
When I die…
“When I die take me to the Sheldon range” I’d say. Prop me up facing East near the waterhole on that day.
Leave a cup o Joe and a smoke in my hands. I’ll watch each sunrise forever in that beautiful land.
Each mornin’ the wild horses that I love… Will bring a blessing from the great man above.
Heaven would be complete for me on that spot. To many it might not seem like I’m askin’ alot.
View original post 727 more words