A/N: this poem is written with colocquilisim, so don't comment saying "dude, its 'ground' not 'groun''" its ment to me that way. And this is the first time I've ever written in a Texas accent, so, yeh.


The Long Wait

The cow-pony stood quiet at the gate,

Head down, reins on the groun'.

He was waitin' for his cowboy,

Waitin' t' go for a ride,

But it was a mighty long wait.

His big ol' head nodded away the flies,

An' he flinched 'em off his flanks,

The painted coat rippled under the sunlight.

Painted dun an' white, an' curried clean,

Betrayed by the sadness in his big eyes.

No one knew that cow-pony's mind,

When he'd been there thinkin',

His tail flickin' 'round his hocks.

There was only one man who could tell ya',

The only one of his kind.

With a sigh he shifted his weight,

The saddle leather groaned in protest.

I think he knew, that wise ol' cow-pony,

Knew there'd be no ride that day,

'Cause the cowboy'd met his fate.

That ol' cow-pony's still standin' at the gate,

A pair of boots backwards in the stirrups,

And he's jus' waitin' there for a cowboy,

Waitin' for a cowboy that ain't comin',

'Cause it's a mighty long wait.

In memory of my father.