Talkin' Cowboy

Like moths at a light they will gather
in some little hideaway place
A feed store, cafe or sale barn
Someplace where they'll find settin' space.

Someplace where the patrons speak cowboy
Where stories and mem'ries run wild
Where their boots and a dirty old Stetson
Catch the eye of any stray child.

And though they may only look backwards
To find tales of horses and herds
Years that have passed since the cowboy days
They remember with passing of words.

They'll settle someplace where it's quiet
And start to remember the times
When they rode with the wagon for roundup
While young and still in their prime.

Or a horse they all rode on some outfit
A canyon where one took a spill
Perhaps it's a ringy ole' sukey
That roams one particular hill.

Some morning at coffee and breakfast
While you're at some "cowboy cafe"
Sit still in a corner and listen
To hear what old cowboys might say.

So here's to those dwindling hideouts
Where a man can talk cowboy again
Where if someone drinks coffee and listens
It stirs all the times from back when.

Sally Bates