Copyright 1996 - Paul D. Hatch
OLD SAM
I put him out to pasture
old Sam had served me well..
If he could only speak,
what stories he could tell..
Of long hot days at round-up,
of snowy frigid rides.
When Sam had took me there and back,
in sure and steady strides.
In early days he'd fought me some,
I'ze forced to use the spurs,
Seems he'd wake up every morning,
with a blanket full of burrs..
Oft times I'd fork the old McLellan,
and pull my Stetson snug.
Old Sam would turn his head around,
and give a horsley shrug..
I'ze tensed up like a fat hog,
at a sausage seminar.
Then he'd line out and I'd relax,
but not for very far.
Cause bye and bye as sure as sin,
old Sam would come un-glued.
I'd recite his genealogy,
in terms profane and crude.
Then the days turned into months,
the months turned into years.
Sam turned into a cow horse,
surpassing all his peers.
You ought not think he softened much,
there weren't no mush in Sam.
He's always like a spring thaw creek,
against a beaver dam.
But thru the years we'd built a truce,
we never wrote it down.
I'ze dumb myself, and Sam,-
couldn't tell a verb from a proper noun.
But neither Jocoby nor Myers,
with all their legalese.
Including "where-ofs" and "where-fores"
dotted I's and well crossed T's
Ever built a contract,
with more of binding force,
than this agreement made between,
a cowboy and his horse.
I promised him I'd feed him good,
and although some may scoff,
he promised if the feed was good,
that he'd not poop me off.
Well, he's now reached his grandpa stage,
he's two score years plus three.
But age has been right kind to him,
like an imported rare chablis.
Some have urged I trade him off.
They just don't understand.
He's not just another common horse,
Sam rode fer the brand.
'Sides, I'm a hopin bye and bye,
when all my vigors fled.
The Man upstairs won't trade me off,
But perhaps, instead,---
He'll look down here and pity me,
He'll see I ain't much good.
But perhaps He'll see like my horse Sam,
I done the best I could.
|
