Cowboy poet Bryce Angell

The young men laughed when he entered the room. The years had passed him all too soon. So few remembered his cowboy way. Those good times gone, he’d seen his day.

His response to them was quick and fast. “Each day goes by and doesn’t last. Your time’s a comin’ and don’t you bet. From here to there the years are set.”

“Your young eyes see age obsolete. From that regard, I’ll take the seat. My years of toil you can’t erase. Being put to pasture ain’t no disgrace.”

“You young ones want a love affair. She’ll break your heart, but don’t despair. Hard work will get her off your mind. ‘Sides, women folk are too refined.”

“So, cowboys if you’re here to stay. I tell you there’s no better way. But, cowboys you sure need to know ‘bout winter work, the cold and snow.”

“You see, when winter’s ten below, your rope won’t toss, dang sure won’t close. Your fingers will think they’re under ice. My toasty fire will sure feel nice.”

“While on the trail and asleep at night, the cold hard ground will be your plight. My soft, warm bunk’s right by the flame, with an extra blanket. Now, what a shame.”

“After breakfast when you’re in the saddle. The cold North Wind will be your battle. I’ll be in the bunkhouse nice and warm. You’re out there bravin’ another storm. Your pants will be frozen to your legs. And, by the way, could you pass those eggs?”

“What you will do, I’ve done before. How many times, I can’t be sure. You’re all headed in my direction. Don’t wanna be me then make that election.”

“Yes, my body’s sore from years of cold. But I’ve earned my place which you call old.”

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