Slim Farnsworth ~ Paonia, Colorado
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Don't Fence Me In
He�s been a cowboy forty years,
He�s seen his thick and thin,
But the greatest fear this cowboy has,
Is that he may get fenced in.
He gets t� talkin� to the boss,
As he moves the cows along,
He takes his time and talks slow,
So�s the words don�t come out wrong.
"Now Boss I know yer busy,
But there�s somethin� on my mind,
It seems the worlds a changin�,
And no one needs my kind.
Now I know I�ve asked fer lots of things,
In the years I�ve known y� boss,
And y� need t� know I�m thankful,
Fer my life, my job, my hoss.
Y� see my guts are twisted up,
I got�s this feelin� deep inside,
The day�s a�comin� awful quick,
Folks won�t need a hand t� ride.
I have no doubt that I�ll make do,
And keep up with the times,
I might could write my memoirs,
And then put them into rhymes.
I�m sure I�ll keep on drummin�,
Like a spring rain on the tin,
But boss if you could swing it,
Please don�t fence me in."
Now this is the talk a cowboy had,
With the man he called the boss,
He spoke from the heart, what was on his mind,
As he plodded along on his hoss.
Y� may not find him in a church,
Adorned in Sunday�s best,
And he may never read the book,
But he prays jist like the rest.
He feels it best t� save his favors,
Fer when he needs �em most,
And when he prays, he calls on God,
The Son and Holy Ghost.
The cowboy�s prayer is often silent,
And come from deep within,
"Lord all I ask y� for t�day,
Is please don�t fence me in."
As he climbs into his bedroll,
The full moon takes him in,
And from inside, a silent prayer,
"Lord, please don�t fence me in."
As the cowboy slowly drifts off,
He sleeps deeper than before,
And sees the man that he calls boss,
Inside the open door.
"Now cowboy I jist had no choice,
I had t� call y� in,
�Cause there on Earth I couldn�t help,
But here you aren�t fenced in."
�2008, Slim Farnsworth
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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The Toast
To all of those who came before,
The keepers of the trail,
The bold, the reckless underdogs,
Who always did prevail.
To the men who lived by lariats,
The forsaken saddle tramps,
The midnight hour, and dust ridden flour,
And the old man we called gramps.
To those who do, what�s needin� done,
Who weather through the rain,
Who take a stand, with calloused hand,
And pay no heed to pain.
To those that see the job t� finish,
And ride hard throughout the day,
Ain�t no job done, until it�s all done,
They won�t strike fer higher pay.
To those who tend the edgy herd,
With moonlight serenade,
And spend their nights, �neath Northern lights,
They know they�ve got it made.
To the homeless range bound refugees,
Who bed down on sagebrush shore,
To the men of grit, who never quit,
They don�t see theirselves as poor.
They chose this life, it suited �em,
Though some may think it coy,
To their ghost, I propose a toast,
They call themselves, COWBOY.
�2008, Slim Farnsworth
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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The Big City Cattle Buyer
We was movin' cattle,
Down a dry and dusty road,
When I beheld a stranger,
That not one cowhand knowed.
He said, "I'm from the city,
And own some land not far from here,
I notice that you country folks,
Have cattle always near.
I'd like t' buy a calf from you,
I really need a cow,
Just name your price I'll pay with cash,
Can I pick 'im out right now?"
He wandered out among the herd,
And picked hisself one out,
A nifty little red 'un,
With a slightly wetted snout.
"I like this one, I surely do,"
That's what the fella said,
"He's short and stout, and awful cute,
I think I'll name him Ted."
"Well here's your money cowboy,
But before I up and go,
There's a couple things 'bout raisin' cows,
I think I ought t' know."
I said, "friend, I'll gladly tell y',
All the facts y' wish t' know,
But before I do, I'd be obliged,
If you'd let my cowdog go."
�2006, Slim Farnsworth
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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Old Fences And Old Cowboys
Old Fences and Old Cowboys
Why do we mend fence?
A young'un asked his pa.
It jist don't make no sense,
Beat all I ever saw.
That fence is old and tattered,
Weathered, beat and bruised,
Looks a little battered,
All these years that its been used.
Seems t' me as if,
We jist might be ahead,
T' knock this fence out in a jiff,
Put a new 'un up instead.
A new un'd sure look nice,
Out here in this meadow,
Yeah it might cost a scary price,
But it'd cast a perty shadow.
With these final words,
The boy looked at his pa,
Said mendin' fence is for the birds,
A new 'un leaves folks in awe.
Pa looked at his son,
Then shook his head a bit,
Said listen good now youn'un,
Let's take and have a sit.
That fence is old and tattered,
Weathered, beat and bruised,
Looks a little battered,
All these years that it's been used.
But let me tell y' somethin',
'Bout fences and cowboys alike,
The outside look ain't nothin',
Ain't no two of 'em alike.
There's somethin' 'bout old fences,
They've somehow earned their keep,
They'll be around from this day hence,
Ain't no need t' call 'em cheap.
They're alot like worn out cowboys,
The scars all tell a tale,
A young man once a ploughboy,
'Till his dreams one day took sail.
A fence can tell a story,
Of days, long since gone by,
A wanderin' cow chasin' her tail,
A cowboy wonderin' why.
That leanin' fence post,
Sure has some grit,
Outstandin' most,
That seemed much more fit.
That post may be weathered,
And look pretty tough,
Worn where a horse teathered,
It's jagged and rough.
Cowboys is like fences,
Each one has its tales,
Scarred from old fences,
And weathered from the gales.
The point I'm tryin' t' make son,
That fence is worth the while,
It's earned the chance, t' make a stake,
On this ranch for a while.
It may be old and tattered,
Weathered, beat and bruised,
Looks a little battered,
It sure had been abused.
It ain't about the money,
But that old fence 'il stay,
It sounds a little funny,
But you'll understand someday.
Let's get back t' work son,
There's fence still left t' mend,
Hustle up, lets get it done,
Ranch house is jist around the bend.
Twenty-five years since,
That young boy's all but grown,
Out a mendin' fences,
On a place he calls his own.
A young lad looks up at him,
A question in his eyes,
Pa says, What y ' thinkin' young'un?
The lad replied t' his surprise.
Why do we mend fence,
The young'un asked his pa,
It jist don't make no sense,
Beat all I ever saw.
Pa jist looked around,
Then got a silly grin,
Funny how things come around,
This here's a place I've been.
�2006, Slim Farnsworth
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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