The Cowboy

The Cowboy

 

All day long on the prairies I ride,

Not even a dog to trot by my side;

My fire I kindle with chips gathered round,

My coffee I boil without being ground.

 

I wash in a pool and wipe with a sack;

For want of an oven I cook bread in a pot,

And sleep on the ground for want of a cot,

 

My ceiling is the sky, my floor is the grass,

My music is the lowing of the herds as they pass;

My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones,

My parson is a wolf on his pulpit of bones.

 

And then if my cooking is not very complete

You can't blame me for wanting to eat.

But show me a man that sleeps more profound

Thank the big puncher-boy who stretches himself on the ground.

 

My books teach me ever consistence to prize,

My sermons, that small things I should not despise;

My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones

That fortune favors those who look out for their own.

 

And then between me and love lies a gulf very wide.

Some lucky fellow may call her his bride.

My friends gently hint I am coming to grief,

But men must make money and women have beef.

 

But Cupid is always a friend to the bold,

And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold.

 

If I had hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat

That bore all the sins in the ages remote;

But why it is I can never understand,

For each of the patriarchs owned a big brand.

 

Abraham emigrated in search of a range,

And when water was scarce he wanted a change;

old Isaac owned cattle in charge of Esau,

And Jacob punched cows for his father-in-law.

 

He started in business way down at bed rock,

And made quite a streak at handling stock;

Then David went from night-herding to using a sling;

 

And, winning the battle, he became a great king.

Then the shepherds, while herding the sheep on a hill,

Got a message from heaven of peach and goodwill.

 

 

All day long on the prairies I ride,

Not even a dog to trot by my side;

My fire I kindle with chips gathered round,

My coffee I boil without being ground.

 

 

 

 

 

Adios,

Jessie Lou