Behind the Grindstone

Buck and Roy both hired on
To ride for the Bar B Q
They both rode the range
The way most cowboys do

At the bottom of the stack
Far away and to the back
Of the old dresser drawer
A poem written long before

In the flickering light of the candle
He picks up quill and ink
And spreads the parchment before him
As the candle seems to wink

He stands in the time
When the days most done
Accented by
The setting sun

He stands alone where the earth meets the sky
Where humming birds and eagles fly
On the edge of the canyon wall
Listening to the waterfall
From the stream wandering far below
Speaking words he does not know

He had taught him Americans history
Down throughout the years
And it had done them both well
Or so it now appears

You looked for answers
In your life
Amongst the turmoil
Stress and strife

There was a time in times past before the homestead act when the prairie was open range. Some called it free range or free graze, not owned by anyone but controlled and grazed by those tough enough to keep what they claimed.

He had taught him Americans history
Down throughout the years
And it had done them both well
Or so it now appears

Man’s one desire was to be free So he stood and fought for the right to be Thirteen small colonies on foreign land Called the Crown’s bluff and called her hand

He thought he’d load her up
And take her for a ride
After all for more than twenty years
She had been his bride

Well, hello there you wandering wind
You are back my old friend
You’ve returned after all these years
Whispering yearnings in my ears

To celebrate their anniversary
They had went on a cruise
Bob said he figgered
He didn’t have much to loose

It seems nicknames and the southern culture go hand in hand. In one area we frequented in the past almost every man had a nickname.

I wrote this poem about eight years ago honoring our local volunteer fire department who battled a prairie fire and saved our house and outbuildings. It seems fitting to publish the poem at this time to honor and thank all those who have been battling the fires this spring.

He’s just an old cowboy
Settin’ on his porch
He’s lost some of his fire
But he hasn’t dropped his torch