Life in the Saddle

With coffee black as death itself,
the frontier bears his name
Riding into the devils fire,
he’s roped his way to fame

Living in a saddle,
six gun and lasso at his side
He’s brave the natures elements,
as into hell this hero rides

Blazing are the afternoons,
nights spent cold and alone
Singing to the wayward beast,
his horse is this man’s throne

Scented from the sweltering heat,
down the dusty trail he strode
Breaking the mustang wild,
the dirt and sky are his abode

Eating simple cowboy chuck,
cornbread, beans and stew
Howling with coyotes at the moon,
whose shape is quite a view

Driving heard on broken trail,
as the sweat beads on the brow
Fending off the rustlers gun,
to his heard he is avowed

Starlight brings an early dawn,
while dinners served in black
Trudging through those hostile lands,
a target for attack

From Texas north the Chisholm Trail,
there Oklahoma bound
Burning through the daylight,
spending their nights upon the ground

To build a stake and drive the beast,
to markets states away
Of broken bones and leathered skin,
now walking with a sway

Amazing blue the sky does seem,
speckled lightly with the clouds
Or grievous claps of thunder,
sun choked out by storms shroud

And age the youngest buckaroo,
to a splintered hobbling stump
Filling him with tales of grandeur,
and a case of heinous grump

These cowboys and their clan,
have tamed our frontier from the start
Their resting place the Wild West,
they died with nature in their hearts