His skin was so wrinkled, All leathered and tanned... From hours spent in sunlight, The years that time spanned. His eyes still would twinkle, But only now and then... When his mind wandered back, To the way life had been. A roof over his head now, Sparkling white sheets... A coverlet thrown over them, Kept simple, but neat. The room was confining, But they saw to his needs... Joe was a loner, spoke naught Of his deeds. A little old rocker, Was his favorite chair... It's cushion a blanket, All folded and square. The blanket was special, From long years before... It had protected his horse, From the saddle it wore. Joe rocked in the chair, Boots and hat by his side... Awaiting the next time, The call came to ride. The staff thought Joe weird, Others thought him quite strange... As he waited for the call, To again ride the range. Joe kept to himself, And he bothered no one... His head cocked and listening, For the call soon to come. The hearse was called for him, In deep dark of night... But to Joe it was a mustang, Such a beautiful sight. They sent along the blanket, Boots, hat, and his tack... For Joe had been quite adamant, "I'm not coming back!' Joe's soul rides the range now, Permanently free... Still punching those longhorns, For eternity. ©Loree (Mason) O'Neil February 3, 2007 Used With Permission All Rights Reserved By Author Mail Website

Cool Water
Sequenced by Richard Goodyear
Smick & Smodoo's World