Duane Reece

Duane Reece                          

With the study of pages compiled through the agesThat have brought the cowboy fame,It wouldn’t be no mystery if we went down in historyAs being all one and the same.

We’re portrayed with the visions of trail dust and horizonsUndistinguished as we gallop in stride;When in the cow-haulers’ society, there’s as great a varietyAs there is in the ranges we ride.

Most pass their tests and are classed with the restWith no cause to break from the file,But there’s certain situations in the more trying locationsThat require a more spirited style.

Now there’s armies about to get ’em up and head ’em outTo ride point and the swing and the flank,But when all that is seen is deep tracks and thin greenIt calls for the heads of the rank.

And a jillion world-beaters on the mechanical cheatersThat can haul ’em and maul ’em and squeeze,But more mettle’s in need when it’s just man and his steedAnd they’re ringing faraway trees.

When it’s been painted for eons and glorified in bronzeAs seen from the fringe in a trot,Some ink will be spent in trying to documentHow it looks from the blood and the snot.