Page 17 - PoetryBookFinal052021
P. 17
F o r M y D a d
There's A Cold Wind Blowing, These Riders Cut From Noble Cloth,
It Changes Every Scene. The Measure Straight And True.
Blades Of Grass No Longer Flowing, Their Strength Lies Not In Forceful Ways,
The Hills No Longer Green. But Kindness Through And Through.
Trees Aglow With Color, They Hold To Right And Justice,
Bears Searching Where To Hide. It Guides Them Through The Day.
Signs Of Winter Coming, When Trouble Brings On Darkness,
As Summer Steps Aside. They Stand And Light The Way.
So Here's To All The Cowboys, My Father Has This Cowboy Heart,
With Faces Tan Like Hide. Of This I Have Derived.
They Chose This Life Of Hardship, Helping Others, Standing Tall,
Not For Money But For Pride. Putting Differences Aside.
They Are Keepers Of The Western Way, His Journey Began So Long Ago,
Caretakers From The Heart. I'm Certain Of His Fate.
They Ride Through Wind And Winter Storm His Trail On Mountain High
And Rest Where Eagles Part. Will End At Heaven's Gate.
