There’s somethin’ bitter sweet ‘bout growin’ old,
The dreams that got away, I can touch an’ hold.
My portrait was a canvas without wisdom an’ grace,
Now character has left its mark upon a wiser face.
There’s some eatin’ showin’ ‘round my middle,
An’ trailin’ behind, maybe storin’ just’a little.
A slowin’ stride comes from lots’a good miles,
Noted by a trail of lines from too many smiles.
The day I quit workin’ this farm an’ ranch,
Felt my purpose danglin’ an’ left to chance.
Got tired of greasin’ them chores along,
Like hummin’ the tune of a wored out song.
But then the dust settled like it always does,
An’ gettin’ old ain’t quite what I thought it was.
Clocks quit racin’ since there’s nowhere to be,
An’ the grass is lookin’ greener far as I can see.
The farm is quiet an’ the house is my own,
A couple three dogs make it feel like a home.
I’ve been blessed with a wonderful past,
But I’m thinkin’ the best was saved up for last.
Best for Last ©2018 | amy elizabeth
More Cowboy Poetry by amy elizabeth |Trail of Trials: A Collection of Western Folk Poetry
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