The old man stood tall,
his beard was snowy white.
His hair white as cotton,
his blue eyes shining bright.
talked about his childhood,
what he wanted to be.
He wanted to be a cowboy,
since the age of three.
He always lived in the city,
since the day he was born.
Never seen a real horse,
No boots he'd ever worn.
He never had a dog,
like most boys do.
longed to be a cowboy,
said he was ninety-two.
A fellow walked up to him,
said a cowboy you can be.
don't have to dress like one,
or wear a hat like me.
Don't have to own a ranch,
own a horse or a cow.
You can be a cowboy,
Let me tell you how.
Stand up for what's right,
the truth will always stand.
That's the cowboy's way,
and always lend a hand.
The old man thought about it,
said all that I always do.
I reckon I am a cowboy,
at the age of ninety-two.
Copyright © 2011 Jo Ann Lovelace. All Rights Reserved.
