As hearad on the Good Stuff with Jim Thompson
 There is a calling in this land,
On mountain, plain, or desert sand,
That touches souls of men who yearn
To find their place, their fate to earn.
This calling that a cowboy feels
Fulfills his hope to cut and heal
Those bonds that bind to city lights,
That hide the heaven’s starry nights.
On frozen ground or burning sand
He’s free to grow and make a hand,
With honest toil to prove his worth
A life in balance ‘tween pain and mirth.
He rides the morning trail, alert,
For cattle sign there in the dirt
His livelihood is made that way
In rounding up the ones that stray.
With calloused hand and steady eye
He heeds the plea of nature’s cry,
Steadfast in caring for the land
And always riding for the brand.
With creak of leather, strike of hoof,
A cloudless sky that makes a roof,
The smell of grass on gentle breeze
All mix to keep his mind at ease.
His church is always near at hand,
He thanks his Maker for this land,
Worships at a grassy alter
Praying that his faith not falter.
He’ll ride this range of grass and cow
Until the time for him to bow
And cross to that eternal shore
Where there is pain and strife no more.
But passing, then, he leaves behind
A memory that his kin will find
Behooves them all to strive for good
And keep the faith for which he stood.
                        ©10-10-2011 Slim McNaught