That somewhat ancient cowhand stood there o’er a pile of rocks, his wispy white hair stirred by the breeze.
Hat in hand, slumped and stooped, he didn’t know I was near as he arduously dropped to his knees.
Memories reeled in his head, his heart rabidly thumped in his chest.
The miles they logged, the times that they shared, counted among the best.
He laughed as he sat back, his hand repeatedly slapping his knee.
Layin’ back, hands behind head, he exclaimed ‘what will be will be’.
He replaced his hat as he stood, noddin’ at the assemblage of stone.
His shirt sleeve wiped tears from his face. All this, more feelings than ever shown.
That somewhat ancient cowhand stood there staring out into space.
Knowing the bond with his horse was one he could never replace.
Copyright 2018 - Mark Munzert
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