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Early each morning,
After my chores are done,
I saddle my horse,
Ride into the sun.
Over West Texas trails,
Got a ten gallon hat,
Spurs on my boots,
Follow old railroad rails,
I'm back in the saddle,
Back to my roots.
Feet locked in the stir-ups,
With my ole cowboy boots.
Goldie, my horse is gentle and tame,
Ride her easy, don't want her lame.
Stop for a drink, at the mouth of a brook,
Dismount from my saddle,
Take in a long look.
Mountain tops covered with snow on a ridge,
Amazed at the workmanship of an old wooden bridge.
A gentle breeze brings such a sweet zest,
Just me and Goldie,
Its really the best,
Riding the dusty old trails,
In the Wild, Wild, West.
Philip Lore
| Submitted Date |
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Wednesday, February 11, 2009 |
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Poets
