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A Cowboy's Christmas Prayer

The worn and wrinkled cowboy
slowly shaved and combed his hair.
He picked the finest clothes he had
and then he dressed with care.
He stomped into his new bought boots
and shrugged into his coat.
The others would have questioned him,
but his thoughts seemed quite remote.

He stepped out of the bunkhouse,
and pulled his hat down tight,
Then climbed aboard his private horse
and rode into the night.
The single footin' gelding
ate the miles without a pause
And seemed to know the rider
had a most important cause.

Twenty miles on through the night,
with the rider deep in thought,
The stars came out to guide his way
to the goal the ride had bought.
His horse stopped on a gentle rise,
tho' the rider pulled no rein,
And the cowboy raised his head to stare
'Cross the quiet and lonely plain

He crawled down off the weary horse,
loosed the cinch so it could blow,
Then walked a yard or two away
and knelt down in the snow.
He crushed his hat against his chest,
raised his face up to the sky,
And then he started talking
like a friend was standing by.

"Lord, you see I rode a piece tonight
'Cause I knowed that you'd be here.
Course you wuz at the bunkhouse too,
but on this hill ya' seems  near.
As I look acrost this prairie
and see the things youčve made,
Why, comparin' things us men has done
really puts 'em in the shade."

"I thank you for the love you show
in everything you do,
And I'm proud to be a top-hand
with a loyal happy crew.
I've still got all my fingers,
my legs are bowed, but tough,
Rheumatiz' ain't touched my bones,
and my mind is sharp enough."

"Your spirit gives me comfort,
and I know that when I die,
You'll let me rest forever
at that bunkhouse in the sky.
Forgive me when I wander off,
like a wild jug-headed hoss,
And I pray You'll not give up on me
'fore I learn that you're the boss."

"I've rode out here to tell you
I'm thankful for a Savior's birth,
And to send you MERRY CHRISTMAS
from your folks down here on earth."
Then he mounted up and rode away
with a casual good-bye nod.
A cowboy with his heart at peace
in the palm of the hand of God.

© Gail T. Burton 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Read more of Gail T. Burton's poems here

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Christmas for Cowgirls

She stood in quiet wonder, gazing at the babe in the hay
Removing her battered Stetson, the cowgirl knelt to pray

Father, how can we every say thank you for this gift you gave
This tiny babe, your very own, a sacrifice, our souls to save

I cannot find the words, but this debt I will set right
Gladly will I ride for you, I'll sign on this Christmas night

She rose to her feet, leaned in and kissed the babe's curly head
Brusquely wiping away the trail of tears she'd shed

Bless this child, Lord, keep his heart from straying
So that he'll not wish to dance to any tune that Satan's playing

His life's trail won't be an easy one, this you already know
My pony is getting restless, guess I best mount up and go

She turned and strode to the back of the church, pausing at the door
"Thank you for the sermon, Parson, it truly moved me to my core"

As the cowgirl turned her pony West, she heard the Parson say
"Friends, on this Christmas Eve, for the cowgirl let us pray"

God bless the cowgirl, she sure has had one long, hard ride
When she gets to Heaven, give her a good pony and trail that's wide

The cowgirl stopped her pony and looked back one more time
Whispered, "God bless the town folk, they've got a long hard climb"

© 2005, Catherine Lilbit Devine
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Read more of Catherine Lilbit Devine's poetry here.



A Cowboy's First Christmas

The snow on th' bunkhouse,
is a'twinklin' like foil.
That 'ol stove lid's a'hiss,
as the coffee comes ta' boil.

I looked  out the window,
on this clear Christmas night,
with the moon's glow on the stables,
reflectin' back the light.

It makes me think back,
on a story I know.
That, "Other" night in a stable,
that happened long ago.

About the time that a blizzard,
pushed all the "critter's" inside.
A pilgrim, wife with child,
came in quietly to abide.

It was just about light,
that the great miracle was done.
The Lord had looked down,
and gave the world, his only son.

The gifts, they were many.
Three old miner's, gave gold!
Oh, the Savior was born,
and God's glory was bold!

The child's favorite's, they say,
in those stories of old,
Wal', it ain't no rumor,
the truth to be told!

Now, the cowboy's will tell ya',
as he lay in trapper's furs;
In his hand's, was a reata,
at his feet, silver spurs!

© 2002, D. T. Johannsen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission

Read more of D. T. Johannsen's poetry here.



The Gift

God sat on His golden palomino, letting the old horse blow
They'd moved some Angus clouds to the Sierras, where they badly needed snow.
He threw a leg around the saddle horn and looked out at his land
He thought of His Son's birthday which was right at hand.

He wondered what gift His Son would like to help the celebration
After all, He gave His all for the saving of all creation.
Now gold and tremendous riches for Him hold no allure
And earthly wealth has no worth here and that is true for sure.

Just then His Boy rode up on a pure white stallion colt
Which pranced and danced with joy but wouldn't think to bolt.
The father looked with pride at this horseman, His only Son,
And thought, this is the very horse he rode into Jerusalem.

God asked the Boy what He would like as gift on Christmas day.
He smiled that gentle smile of His and then He heard Him say,
"The gift I want with all my heart must come from folks on earth
It's something that I've wanted since the first day of my birth."

"It can't be bought with money, it's not on any store shelves
And when they give the gift to Me, they give it to themselves.
This gift has greatest value, yes it has the greatest worth,
The thing I've always wanted most, is simply Peace on Earth."

© 2005, George Bourbeau
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Read more of George Bourbeau's poetry here.


The Stable

The storm whirlin' 'round that 'poke
Was really bad, 'twas a fright.
He was still out in nowhere
An' there was no hope in sight.

He had ta find some shelter,
His poor pony couldn't last
More'n jist a few more miles
Travelin' in this icy blast.

The outlook didn't seem good.
Was his ol' pony able?
Then he saw it 'cross the way
An' ol' abandoned stable.

He broke a trail through the snow
Urgin' Cisco down thet draw.
Soon they were within those walls
An' bedded down in old straw.

He had curried thet bronc down
An' lay back 'pon his saddle,
Then he quickly drifted off
Dreamin' of longhorn cattle.

Soon, outside those ol' ruins
A noise woke him with a jolt.
He jumped up from his straw bed
An' drew his rusty ol' Colt.

The storm seemed to have passed by
An' a light glimmered throughout.
What he saw in the doorway
Told him what this was about.

He fashioned a small cradle
In that old stable manger.
He knew what he had ta do.
This night's guest was no stranger.

This ol' 'poke had forgotten
That this was now Christmas Day,
This guest came from Galilee
Lookin' fer a place ta stay.

There in thet little stable
Jesus found a room that night,
In the heart of thet ol' 'poke
Who passed on 'fore mornin's light.

Now he rides Heaven's great range
By the Grace o' His Accord.
He now had The Christmas Gift
Given ta us by Our Lord.

© 2005, Ken Whitecotton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Read more of Ken Whitecotton's poetry here.


Two Gifts for Christmas

For days and days the blizzard raged;
Inside the cabin they were caged.
The snow had fallen Christmas week,
Their Christmas sure was going to be bleak.

The couple were snow bound at the ranch,
For getting away they had no chance.
Although they had plenty of wood and food,
It was hard to be in a Christmas mood.

Lack of excitement made her feel bad,
And she couldn't keep from being sad.
And he just wished that he could see
Some how to get a Christmas tree.

She went to bed that Christmas Eve
He waited up and fixed to leave.
He bundled up and braved the blast,
Hoping and praying that he could last.

He faced the gale with an iron will
To a place he knew up on the hill.
Among the brush he found a sage,
Tall and twisted and gray with age.

He cut it down slung it on his back
And lugged it down the stormy track.
Back at the cabin he made a space,
Put up the bush by the fireplace.

He went to the box for the silverware
And strung it and hung it on the tree here and there.
He looked at it and nodded his head,
And exhausted, he stumbled and crawled into bed.

That Christmas morning it began to be light
And soon the sun came up shining bright.
Through the window the sunshine flowed
And fell on the silverware till it glowed.

That glorious morning she slipped out of bed
And seeing the tree she gasped and said,
"Oh come look dear, a Christmas tree
And decorated too, how could that be?"

He sat up in bed with a smile so wide,
Looked at her smiling and then replied,
"Now sweetheart, what would Christmas be
 Without some sort of Christmas tree?"

And then she knew what he had done
Just to please his dearest one.
She rushed over, gave him a kiss;
As he got up she laughed and said this,

"Such a grand surprise, what can I say?
I have two gifts on this special day.
One gift from God, his Son from above,
And from you my dear a gift of love."

And so for the day so snowy and bright;
They feasted and shared until it was night.
As they retired he heard her say,
"This has been the best Christmas day!"

© 2005, C. W. Bell, All Rights Reserved. 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Read more of C. W. Bell's poetry here


Visit our Art Spur project for a growing collection of poems inspired by 
"A Christmas Tale" by Mick Harrison. 



See a complete list of all the holiday poems from 2000-2005 here.

See the links here for holiday news and more.



Page Nine





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