He was a cowboy - not the bronc -
bustin' kind
But he was a cowboy, at least
in his mind
His idea of dressup was a brown
western suit
And a fresh coat of polish on his
cowboy boots.
Even the weddin' didn't alter
his style
Boots were aclackin' as he walked
down the aisle
His bride stood proudly in her
Sunday best
The rev-rend prayed aptly -- their
marriage be blessed.
His old pick-up rolled them away
toward the sun
For a life punctuated with
laughter and fun.
Some leather, some denim, and some old
songs to sing.
They grew old together with life's
simpler things.
Now she sits on the front pew,
a wipin' her eyes.
Those boots that he loved so,
now point to the skies
The body lies sleepin' in a
satiny gray
But the cowboy once in it, up and
rode away.
"Take hope dear beloved," the kind
rev-rend said.
"The soul lives forever - just the body
is dead"
If we shall be faithful, then we shall
be blessed
To meet this old cowboy - in Heaven -
"toward the West."
