Memories spurred by a hat, horseshoe, or nail,
Of long nights in the saddle, out on the trail.
The cool of a hatband, on a sweat soaked head,
The puff in the dust, as you roll out your bed.
The feel of the iron, as a rest for your hand,
Quick from the leather, at your slightest command!
Sounds in the night, raising the hair on your neck,
Moon shines in the distance, a faraway speck.
A faggot on the coals, creates the tiniest spark,
Exposing shadows with promise, to stave off the dark.
You lower back down, on the bed of hard rock,
You say words to your pony, just to hear someone talk!
The light of the morning, brings rest to your soul,
You reach into your possessions, for a small chunk of coal.
The morning has bought, with its coming to light,
Peace from concerns, that troubled your night!
A tin full of coffee, a pull from dried beef,
A breakfast of cowboys, restoring belief!
Embers die down, time to pack your bedroll,
A silent prayer of thanksgiving, to settle your soul!
Then up to the saddle, you set yourself well,
For the hours you'll travel, will be quite a spell.
Oh the memories that whelm, from a hat, horseshoe or nail,
Embodied through lifetimes, never shall pale.
A mount of the Pony, who makes life complete,
By putting miles behind you, with his rhythmic feet.
A salute to old pals, who cave shape to life's Dance,
As Cowboys who lived, their own stylish Romance.