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C&I's Poem of the Week for 1/25/2011
The Littlest Cowboy gets up from his bed,
blinking and thinking “I’m no sleepyhead!”
He pulls on his worn jeans, bandanna, and hat,
and boots with his spurs—can’t forget that.
He strides into breakfast, spurs all a jingling.
Gets into his seat ‘afore the meal bell stops ringing.
He jaws with the cowboys, as if he were a man,
big, rough, and tough, with a cowboy man’s tan.
He heads to the corrals, right along with the rest
to show ‘em that he can ride with the best.
They lasso the ponies, saddle ‘em up,
and prepare to ride out for the morning roundup.
He says “I’m a big boy; I can do it all right!”
They laugh and say, “Hey Pard’, don’t get so uptight.
“We know you’re a young fella, barely hip high,
but hey, you’re a strong, rough type of guy.
“So we need you to stay, to help us today
in looking after the women while we are away.”
They ride out the gate, in a big cloud of dust,
and the Littlest Cowboy’s proud to have earned all their trust.
He saunters to the house knowing he’s the Head Honcho
and grabs his peashooter, since he’s protecting the Rancho.
The ladies all say how brave he does look
to stay here and guard the whole womenfolk.
So he carries the scraps of the previous meals,
and feeds all the chickens with the dogs at his heels.
He hauls all the water, from the spring to the door,
and he beats out the rugs from the living room floor.
He sweeps the big porch, and polishes chairs,
but keeps his shooter handy and watches for bears.
He’s scanning for Indians while combing his hair.
He takes his job seriously, bandits better have care.
After the lunch is over, he doesn’t hit the sack,
but marches up and down, keeping evil all back.
And when evening comes, he keeps his own watch
and waits for the other cowboys, the not so brave lot.
And finally they arrive, saddle sore and tired,
riding their horses all into the yard.
They all tell him thank you, for being so brave,
‘cause he’s the bravest little cowboy on the wide-open range.
And later that night, he takes off his dusty hat,
then hangs it up right; he can’t ever forget that.
And then off come his boots, spurs, then his jeans.
And he dusts off his bandana, which is frayed at the seams.
He kneels on the floor, before he gets into bed,
and says his own prayers, then pulls the covers over his head.
With stars in his window, he falls asleep,
breathing so even, dreaming so deep.
And he dreams he rides a horse—a large chestnut named Roy,
Yet still he’s the Rancho’s Littlest Cowboy.
C&I's poem of the week for 01/25/2012. To submit your poems for consideration, please send them to mail@cowboysindians.com with "poetry" in the subject line. Selected entries will appear online.
