Legends of the Trail

It's jerky and coffee and eyes full of dust

Hellish hot sun and conchos and rust

It’s riding all day with no end in sight

Then keeping them dumb critters quiet at night

Sioux on the outskirts seeing what they can take

A grizzled old trail boss as mean as a snake

Valleys with rocks but some with sweet grasses

Flash floods in gulches and snow covered passes

Chase off some rustlers with a Winchester rifle

Then gaze at deep canyons that sure were an eyeful

And along that long trail, they buried some men

Compadres and brothers, good pards and friends

Laughing and joking around a small fire

They tried to stay warm as the trail climbed up higher

Then out in the open and down to the train

Driving the herd in the lightning and the rain

Pick up their pay and spend it in town

In the morning they’re broke but with hardly a frown

Then it’s saddle up early and head south again

A couple of ponies, a couple of friends

They’d sign up again in a month, maybe more

Then they’d push a  new herd, knowing just what’s in store

They did it for decades till it faded away

But the tales of those drovers are still with us today

They helped shape a country, though they never knew it

They faced up to bad times and always fought through it

It’s that will to survive and to just do your best

That the Cowboys left branded on the soul of the west

Photo by B.T. Blade aka Bruce Bugland

© 2008