Cowboy Poetry: The Stockman

By Barry Cooper | Bradley Farm | Sparta, TN 

cowboy at the rodeo - shot backlit against big cloud of dust, coWell, I got a little stockman’s blood,

Pumping through my veins,

I like a horse that can hold a cow,

I like the feel of bridle reins.


I’m really quite found of ropin’,

But I never made it to the NFR,

I’ll never be a singing cowboy,

Or a cowboy movie star.


I’ve never owned a pair of tennis shoes,

But I’ve got four pairs of boots,

I’ve got a good stout workin’ pen,

And a brand new cattle chute.


I keep my cattle healthy,

they never graze brush or weeds,

I got a charge account at the Farmers’ Co-op,

For supplies that I may need.


My gooseneck trailer is a little rusty,

My truck sure ain’t brand new,

But I’ve got a good bit of lush pasture grass,

Sparkling in the morning dew.


I’m usually bustin’ ice in January,

I’m fighting flies on the fourth of July,

I’m building fence in mid October,

Underneath a clear blue sky.


I’ll have to repair the big round baler,

I mush harvest and store some feed,

‘Cause in the dead of winter,

Good hay is what my cattle need.


I’ll gladly help my neighbor,

‘Round up some skittish strays,

I’ll have to bottle feed this baby calf,

Whose mother died today.


And while I’m outside in God’s creation,

I’ll stop and give Him praise,

For making me a stockman,

And for granting me another day.


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