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LEE YOUNG
About Lee Young 

 

 

Hung up on a Rope 

I saw a young cowboy one day on the trail,
and I asked him to stop and tell me his tale.
"Oh, I'm a ridin' hard to get to Abilene,
to see the prettiest gal you ever seen.
It's been four years since I seen my gal Beth,
and I miss her so."
Can't talk no more mister, I gotta go!
The young stranger set off at a trot, then a lope,
a kickin' up dust and a draggin' his rope.
I hollered, "Hey mister,
you're draggin' somethin' behind."
But he didn't hear me, he was out of his mind.
I kicked my old horse in the sides with my spurs,
to catch the young fool before he'd be eat'n burrs.
I got up close, and gave out a yell!
But it was too late, t'weren't long fore he fell.
The rope, it got hung on a stump he went by.
The boy got pulled off, and man did he fly!
Up in the air and down on his back,
he hit with a thud along with his tack.
When I got up close, I could see at a glance,
that poor young feller didn't have much'a chance.
His head I did hold whilst he took his last breath,
but before he died he told me about Beth.
I promised I'd go see this gal he did love.
Then the cowboy drifted off to his place up above.
I buried the boy, and set off for Abilene,
to find this gal Beth that I'd never seen.
After two weeks a ridin', I got into town,
and I found that gal Beth dressed in a wedding gown.
She was fixin' to marry a man known as Slim,
and had forgotten the cowboy, oh how memories dim.
I told her my story, and a tear fell down her cheek.
Then she told me how he left her down by the creek.
"He said he'd be back, but 'til now I ain't heard nothin',
so it's Slim I'm a marryin', and him I'm a lovin'."
I felt sorry for the feller, but it was his fault I guess.
For not stayin' with Beth, and settlin' for less.
So friends I can tell ya, be true to yore heart,
fore ya never know when your rope will get hung,
and from this life you'll part.

11/7/94,  Lee Young
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.

 

 

Nearly Washed Away

The rain poured down on the stranger, as he rode into the sleepy town.
No one was walkin' the streets that night; not a single horse around.
The lightnin' cracked like a stockman's whip; thunder deafened the stranger's ear.
He had his hopes set on a warm dry bed, right after he had himself a beer.
The saloon was dark; nary a sole was in sight, so he rode further on down the street.
He stopped in at the first hotel he found where he'd hoped someone he'd meet.
After tyin' his horse to the hitching post, he splashed through the mud to the door.
T'weren't any sign of a person around; only and ol' hound lay on the floor.
"Where the heck is everyone?" he yelled, scarin' the sleepin' ol'hound.
The dog was so scared he jumped straight up, and let out in a leap and a bound.
He rang the bell on the innkeeper's desk, but no one answered his call.
He then grabbed himself a key from the rack to a room at the end of the hall.
Tired, cold and wet from the storm he got undressed, and tried to lay down to sleep.
Not a sound could he hear from beyond the walls; The dog didn't even let out a peep.
Sleep just wouldn't come easy, though he was tired and lay on a soft bed.
The quiet was just too much to take; he started hearin' voices inside his head.
So, unable to sleep he got up and dressed, and went in search of some food,
But he found the kitchen empty, no wood for a fire, so he sat at the table to brood.
*What's goin' on? Where's all the people?" he thought as he sat there starin'.
"This ain't right, there's gotta be sumthin' wrong, this place shouldn't be so barren."
The town was too eerie for the stranger to take, so he decided to get outta there.
The rain was still comin' down in sheets, but he was leavin', and he didn't care.
Off on his horse he rode into the storm, climbing the hill west of town.
He stopped and took one last look back, but there still weren't no one around.
The lightnin' flashed in the sky overhead, showing the valley below.
A chill ran through him as he sat in the rain watching what he didn't know.
He watched a wall of water rush down through the valley; the likes of he'd never seen.
Like a tidal wave it swept through the streets; it was an awful scary scene.
The little town was washed away that night by a raging flood of water.
He was shor' lucky that he couldn't sleep, for if he could he'd a been a goner.

2003,  Lee Young
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.



 

You can read Lee Young's When Santa Met Saddle Tramp Lee
posted with other holiday 2002 poems.

 

About Lee Young:

You can read more about Lee Young at his web site.

 

 

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