RICHARD BOYD FOWLER
About Richard Boyd Fowler
Of Cattle, Horses and Land
An old pair of boots at the foot of his bed.
And a dusty old hat where he once laid his head.
His chaps, his spurs, his old wild rag of red,
and a well worn saddle still hang in the shed.
As I walk through this homestead that once was my home.
My thoughts running back to the stories he told.
About the wild horses a snortin as they flew through the sky.
Of the rope burns and cactus, when a man felt alive.
Bout the bad ones, the good ones and old cowboy code.
Of the good times in town and the people of old.
He talked of creation, of God and his Son.
Of sacrifice given for all that he loved.
And before each meal, he'd thank God for his wife,
his son, his daughters, grandchildren and life.
The old hand is gone now, but deep in my soul,
time never changes the love that one knows.
I still see him riding in for the noon meal.
His old beat up hands that were so full of skill.
The things that he showed me, the things that we done.
I've always been proud to be his grandson.
His dresser was covered with photos he loved.
He was my grandpa, sent from above.
He taught me the right things about being a man.
He taught us of cattle, horses and land.
© 1999, R. B. Fowler
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Richard Boyd Fowler told us he wrote this poem when "I was sitting around thinkin about my Pop. He was a ranch hand in California and Nevada and he passed on the cowboy gene to me, as I hope to pass it on to my two grandsons. His name was Boyd I. Farrell. He died in my arms in June of 1988 and there is not a day goes by that I don't think of him. He was a good man."
About Richard Boyd Fowler:
I live in Pahrump, Nevada, where I ride my mustang "Cisco" and my dog "Angus" follows along. I've worked ranches in California, Texas, Wyoming, and Oregon and now I just raise a few head of my own.
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