Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE OLD COW MAN, by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. Poet's Biography First Line: I rode across a valley range Last Line: No later than I was! Alternate Author Name(s): Clark, Badger Subject(s): Aging; Cowboys; Fences; Ranch Life; West (u.s.); Southwest; Pacific States | ||||||||
I rode across a valley range I hadn't seen for years. The trail was all so spoilt and strange It nearly fetched the tears. I had to let ten fences down (The fussy lanes ran wrong) And each new line would make me frown And hum a mournin' song. Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak! Hear 'em stretchin' of the wire! The nester brand is on the land; I reckon I'll retire, While progress toots her brassy horn And makes her motor buzz, I thank the Lord I wasn't born No later than I was. 'Twas good to live when all the sod, Without no fence nor fuss, Belonged in pardnership to God, The Gover'ment and us. With skyline bounds from east to west And room to go and come, I loved my fellow man the best When he was scattered some. Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak! Close and closer cramps the wire. There's hardly play to back away And call a man a liar. Their house has locks on every door; Their land is in a crate. These ain't the plains of God no more, They're only real estate. There's land where yet no ditchers dig Nor cranks experiment; It's only lovely, free and big And isn't worth a cent. I pray that them who come to spoil May wait till I am dead Before they foul that blessed soil With fence and cabbage head. Yet it's squeak! squeak! squeak! Far and farther crawls the wire. To crowd and pinch another inch Is all their heart's desire. The world is overstocked with men And some will see the day When each must keep his little pen, But I'll be far away. "There's land where yet no ditchers dig Nor cranks experiment; It's only lovely, free and big And isn't worth a cent." When my old soul hunts range and rest Beyond the last divide, Just plant me in some stretch of West That's sunny, lone and wide. Let cattle rub my tombstone down And coyotes mourn their kin, Let hawses paw and tromp the moun' But don't you fence it in! Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak! And they pen the land with wire. They figure fence and copper cents Where we laughed 'round the fire. Job cussed his birthday, night and morn, In his old land of Uz, But I'm just glad I wasn't born No later than I was! | 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 BORDER AFFAIR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. A BAD HALF HOUR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. A COWBOY'S PRAYER (WRITTEN FOR MOTHER) by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |
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