Today I saw,
A disabled cowpoke.
Tanned and old,
Like a weather beaten saddle bag,
They sat in their chair.
They spoke with that twang,
That old ranchers tend to use.
A monotone way,
Enunciating certain things,
That cold look in the eyes,
Of seeing life and death for so long.
Dressed in proper ranch wear,
Though years have passed,
Since they used a pitchfork.
They didn't wear it,
Like a city slicker.
Not over the top,
Making a statement,
No.
They wore it as a badge,
An honor of their legacy.
Yes,
Today I saw an old cowpoke,
Unable to continue the work,
They knew so long.
Instead,
Having to be content,
Surveying a new world.
