 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| Although I’m just a girl of sorts,
I well remember when, Daddy placed me on a horse, then stood back with a grin He spoke some words I’ll not forget no matter how I age, ‘bout bein’ a little wrangler; his helper without wage Ya see, I was the oldest, an’ no boys would there be, so Daddy made the best of it an’ declared his sidekick me. I learned to herd the cattle, swing a rope above my head, an’ not to worry ‘bout the storm or lightnin’ I might dread He taught me how to buck bales an’ how to lay a brand, guess you could say in our world, I was his best hand We mended fence, pulled new calves an’ fought some big wildfires, me ridin’ there beside him since that was his desire He always called me Buddy, an’ I know that he was proud tho’ he never really said it to anyone out loud Guess you could say my dad ‘n me well, we were very close, an’ bein’ his little wrangler is what I cherish most… Poetry by Tamara Hillman - |
