Raymond
(To Dad)
How tall he sat upon
his polished leather saddle
He wore a Stetson hat
boots ‘n chaps
Calloused hands
body strong ‘n agile
Sharp spurs ‘n western shirts
with pearl snaps
A “roll-your-own” rest-easy
’tween chapped lips
“Bull Durham” tag
dangled from shirt pocket
Cigars he’d smoke
when “feeling in the chips'
While astride his favorite Q-horse,
“Black Rocket”
His spurs did jingle,
on old line-shack boards
At night we’d braid rawhide
ropes ‘n quirts
We’d sip sweet spring water
from hollow gourds
By crackling fire
we’d darn socks ‘n mend
torn ‘n tattered shirts
My 13th year spent
on a ranch dad worked
it did change my life
Art of ridin, huntin,
ropin ‘n camp cooking I did learn
first chew of tobacco,
A new ‘n shiny
stockmen’s knife
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poem by Ray Lucero
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