Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A COWBOY'S WORRYING LOVE, by JAMES BARTON ADAMS Poet's Biography First Line: I ust to read in the novel books 'bout fellers that Last Line: An' a-throwin' the breath o' life away bunched up into sighs. Heigh-ho! Subject(s): Cowboys; Love; Ranch Life; West (u.s.); Southwest; Pacific States | ||||||||
I UST to read in the novel books 'bout fellers that got the prod From an arrer shot from his hidin' place by the hand o' the Cupid god, An' I'd laugh at the cussed chumps they was a-wastin' their breath in sighs An' goin' around with a locoed look a-campin' inside their eyes. I've read o' the gals that broke 'em up a-sailin' in airy flight On angel pinions above their beds as they dreampt o' the same at night, An' a sort o' disgusted frown'd bunch the wrinkles acrost my brow, An' I'd call 'em a lot o' sissy boys but I'm seein' it different now. I got the jab in my rough ol' heart, an' I got it a-plenty, too, A center shot from a pair o' eyes of the winninest sort o' blue, An' I ride the ranges a-sighin' sighs, as cranky as a locoed steer A durned heap worse than the novel blokes that the narrative gals'd queer. Just hain't no energy left no mo', go 'round like a orphant calf A-thinkin' about that sagehen's eyes that give me the Cupid gaff, An' I'm all skeered up when I hit the thought some other rider might Cut in ahead on a faster hoss an' rope her afore my sight. There ain't a heifer that ever run in the feminine beauty herd Could switch a tail on the whole durned range 'longside o' that little bird; A figger plump as a prairy dog's that's feedin' on new spring grass, An' as purty a face as was ever flashed in front of a lookin' glass. She's got a smile that 'd raise the steam in the icyist sort o' heart, A couple o' soul inspirin' eyes, an' the nose that keeps 'em apart Is the cutest thing in the sassy line that ever occurred to act As a ornament stuck on a purty face, an' that's a dead open fact. I'm a-goin' to brace her by an' by to see if there's any hope, To see if she's liable to shy when I'm ready to pitch the rope; To see if she's goin' to make a stand, or fly like a skeered up dove When I make a pass with the brandin' iron that's het in the fire o' love. I'll open the little home corral an' give her the level hunch To make a run fur the open gate when I cut her out o' the bunch, Fur there ain't no sense in a-jammin' round with a heart that's as soft as dough An' a-throwin' the breath o' life away bunched up into sighs. Heigh-ho! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WESTERN WAGONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET DRIVING WEST IN 1970 by ROBERT BLY IN THE HELLGATE WIND by MADELINE DEFREES A PERIOD PORTRAIT OF SYMPATHY by EDWARD DORN ASSORTED COMPLIMENTS by EDWARD DORN AT THE COWBOY PANEL by EDWARD DORN A COWBOY ALONE WITH HIS CONSCIENCE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS |
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