The Little Brown Horse


One day a fellow came up to my side,
and asked me a question that hurt my pride.
He said, "Son, why on earth would you ride
that little brown horse with the scarred up hide."


Well I set my jaw and looked at the sky,
and I thought for a minute before I made my reply.
"I can understand your confusion, of course
as I, too, have owned some fine breeds of horse.


"Conquistador and Cavalry mount,
and some Morgan blood to round things out.
While his bloodline may not be so clear,
some mighty fine horses have brought him here
 

"Brought over in ships, without hesitation
these critters helped us shape our nation.
Lands to explore, wars to be won,
they counted for something when the day was done.


"Now, out on the range life's awfully rough.
If you're going to survive you've got to be tough.
He and his kind had to live off the land.
They were molded and shaped by Nature's hand.


"Growing up he had to make his own way.
There was no one to feed him at the end of the day.
Battles to fight, lessons to learn.
those scars on his hide are really medals he's earned
 

"From the hills to the desert where the coyotes shout
they live in places we only dream about.
And this fellow here is well above par.
Why he's walked more miles than I have on my car.


"But he never needs shoes and he never gets sick
when the trail gets rocky and the underbrush thick.
With strength and endurance he's great of heart.
This little brown horse and I will never part.


"So you see my reasoning is perfectly clear
why I have my four legged partner here."
Yes I answered that man and I did it with pride
about my little brown horse with the scarred up hide




A Cowboy's Best Friend Is His Pony
By Wilf Carter


A cowboy's best friend is his pony,
Yes sir I can prove it to you.
One day I was lost in a blizzard,
My pinto was faithful and true.

We were out riding after some dogies,
Many a mile we had gone,
And we knew by sun-up that mornin'
That we were sure in for a storm.

When we ride on the ranges in Heaven,
It's the roundup on that judgment day,
Up there we must prove true and faithful,
When sent out to gather the strays. 



Come All You Wild Rovers

Come all you wild rovers
 And listen to me,
I'll tell you a story, 
The advice it is free.
Don't place your affections 
On each pretty smile,
For when you are married 
It's for a long while.

And when you are wedded 
You've got a new boss,
Who'll dress you and mind you 
And pick out your hoss.
So gather around boys
We'll drink, it's my treat.
Here's hoping our sweethearts
And wives never meet.


THE COWBOYOh, a man there lives on the Western plains,
With a ton of fight and an ounce of brains,
Who herds the cows as he robs the trains
And goes by the name of cowboy.


He laughs at death and scoffs at life;
He feels unwell unless in some strife,
He fights with a pistol, a rifle, or knife,
This reckless, rollicking cowboy.


He sets up drinks when he hasn't a cent;
He'll fight like hell with any young gent.
When he makes love, he goes it hell-bent,
Oh, he's some lover, this cowboy.


He shoots out lights in a dancing hall;
He gets shot up in a drunken brawl.
Some coroner's jury then ends it all,
And that's the last of the cowboy.


CROSSING THE DIVIDE

Parson, I'm a maverick, just runnin' loose an' grazin'

Eatin' where's th' greenest grass an' drinkin' where I choose

Had to rustle in my youth an' never had no raisin'

Wasn't never halter-broke an' I ain't much to lose

Used to sleepin' in a bag an' livin' in a slicker

Church folks never branded me -- I don't know as they tried

Wish you'd say a prayer for me an' try to make a dicker

For the best they'll give me when I cross the Big Divide

 

Tell 'em I ain't corralled at night in more than twenty

Tell 'em I'm rawboned an' rough an' ain't much for looks

Tell 'em I don't need much grief because I've had plenty

I don't know how bad I am 'cause I ain't kept no books

Tell 'em I'm a maverick a-runnin' loose unbranded

Tell 'em I shoot straight an' quick an' ain't got much to hide

Have 'em come an' size me up as soon as I get landed

For the best they'll give me when I cross the Great Divide

Tell 'em I rode straight an' square an' never grabbed for leather

Never roped a crippled steer or rode a sore-backed horse

Tell 'em I've bucked wind an' rain an' every sort of weather

Had my tilts with A. K. Hall an' Captain R. E. Morse

Don't hide nothin' from 'em, whether it be sweet or bitter

Tell 'em I'll stay on th' range, but if I'm shut outside

I'll abide it like a man because I ain't no quitter

I ain't going to change just when I cross the Great Divide

 

Tell 'em, when th' Roundup comes for all us human critters

Just corral me with my kind an' run a brand on me

I don't want to be corralled with hypocrites an' quitters

Brand me just for what I am -- an' I'm just what you see

I don't want no steam-heat stall or bran-mash for my ration

I just want to meet th' boss an' face him honest-eyed

Show him just what chips I got an' shove 'em in for cashin'

That's what you can tell 'em when I cross the Big Divide


I'VE GOT KNOW USE FOR WOMEN
Now, I've got no use for the women; 
A true one can seldom be found, 
They use a man for his money,
 When it's gone, they'll turn him down. 
They're all alike at the bottom, 
Selfish and grasping for all. 
They'll stay by a man when he's winning 
And laugh in his face at a fall. 

My pal was an honest young puncher; 
Honest and upright and true. 
But he turned to a hard-shooting gunman, 
On account of a girl named Lou. 
He fell in with evil companions, 
The kind that are better off dead; 
When a gambler insulted her picture, 
He filled him full of lead. 

All through the long night they trailed him, 
Through mesquite and thick chaparral. 
And I couldn't help think of that woman 
As I saw him pitch and fall; 
If she'd been the pal that she should have, 
He might have been raising a son, 
Instead of out there on the prairie, 
To die by the ranger's gun
Death's sharp sting did not trouble, 
His chances for life were too slim, 
But where they were putting the body 
Was all that worried him. 
He lifted his head on his elbow; 
The blood from his wounds flowed red. 
He gazed at his pals grouped around him, 
As he whispered to them and said: 

"Oh bury me out on the prairie, 
Where the coyotes may howl o'er my grave. 
Bury me out on the prairie, 
But from them my bones please save. 
Wrap me up in my blankets, 
And bury me deep in the ground. 
Cover me over with boulders 
Of granite gray and round." 

So we buried him out on the prairie, 
Where the coyotes can howl o'er his grave, 
And his soul is now a-resting, 
From the unkind cut she gave; 
And many another young puncher 
As he rides past that pile of stone, 
Recalls some similar woman 
And thinks of his moldering bones.


Poem by Emily Marton
Their Hoofbeats hit the dirt,
With Soft clouds of air puffing from their nostrils,
Grace exceeding their Beauty,
their strides long yet powerful,
With long tangled manes and wiry dense tails flowing,
they have their minds set on the day to come,
to survive the harsh plains,
so beautiful,
yet so cruel.
The young stay close,
minds buzzing
with fluffy tails and high pitched whinnies,
their short strides quicken to keep up with the rush
of yet another move,
never knowing what the day may bring.
but in the soft beating of their hooves,
their Wild spirit will always be pure.
because They are Wild horses.


Poem by Lacie Marie Wiese
If you follow the river around the bend
Where the rainbow ends and life begins
You'll find a mighty stallion
The sire of a heavenly band


He's red like the fire
That burns within
And white like the pure soul
Confined in him


He belongs to no one
Nor ever will
But you can hear the thunder of his hooves
Then all is still


Does this wonderous horse
Live only in dreams?
Or maybe in the bright sun
As it beams


Or maybe just maybe
He lives in our hearts
Forever and ever
Never to part


Unless we can release him
And set him free
Then this stallion of dreams
Will always be



The survival of the wild horse Wild Horse ©  Trish Beckwith Aloft the wind
I ride the night sky
I see the world through a much different eye

Power, beauty
Strength and grace
I feel the spirits of ancestral space

Pride of herd
Sisters and brothers
I live ever watchful standing by others

A kaleidoscope of colors
No two ever the same
The short, the tall, the long of mane

I know the chance
I know the fear
I live on the edge for death crouches near

On my back I carry a load
Through storm and calm
Ever vigilant and bold

I have died in battle
Killed by man
Hunted by predator as I roamed the land

No more room
Not enough grazing
Captured, shot, sold by pound on bills of lading

Yet I survive
Sometimes an insurmountable course
I am feral, I am Mustang, I am Wild Horse
Wild Horse by Trish Beckwith Nature Poems 

  
                    Oh, The Places You'll Go!
(Shamelessly copied one afternoon from the UCSD Special Collections library...) By Dr. Seuss Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own.
And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.
You'll look up and down streets.
Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say,
"I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
That you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.
It's opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen,
Don't worry. Don't stop.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.
Oh!The places you'll go!
You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to great heights.
You won't lag behind,
because you'll have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang
and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don't.
Because sometime, you won't.
I'm sorry to say so
but sadly, it's true
that Bang-ups
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.
You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.
You'll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,that you'll be in a Slump.
And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly, they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose?
How much can you win?
And if you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused that you'll start to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place

The Waiting Place... ...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a yes or a no
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting. Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake,
or a pot to boil, or a better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants,
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

No!
That's not for you! Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
Where Boom Bands are playing.
With banners flip-flapping,
once more you'll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you're that kind of a guy!
Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don't.
Because sometimes, they won't.

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.
And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.
But on you will go
though the weather be foul.
On you will go
though the coyotes howl.
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know,
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft,
and never mix up your right foot with your left.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)
Kid, you'll move mountains!
So...
be your name Buxbaum or Bixy or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!