The Cowboy Up The Road

He was just and old time cowboy
who lived up the road a ways.
He sat and whittled toys for kids
that's how he spent his days. All the kids went up there,
they loved the stories that he told,
about, how the west was won and lost,
and about that shinny gold. Well, he was called to service,
to the place where angels go,
I hoped he knew we loved him,
but, I never told him so. I baked him apple pie,
at least three times a week;
he never actually said thank you,
just smiled, and tweaked my cheek. He didn't have any kin folk left,
so it was up to me,
to put his things in order,
as best that they could be. I know there is always sadness
when a soul moves on it's way,
but as I walked into that house
I hadn't cried until today. Over in the corner, his hat,
hung lifeless on the chair,
tossed there before he left,
the message, I don't care. Then the way I found his boots,
all polished, by his bed,
with his bible, open wide,
to know what the Lord had said. I know he's up in heaven now,
little angels by his side,
telling different stories,
as always with great pride. He was quite a cowboy,
and really quite a man,
to be in charge of cherubs
was always in God's plan.

by Sandra E. Beguhn

Other poems of SANDRA E. BEGUHN (3)

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