WINTER CLOUDS

 

 

  These winter clouds of gloom and gray,

Like guests who have abused their stay,

Are longingly wished away,

For they are a bit depressing. 

Unlike their cousins of summer white,

pretty by day or moonlit night,

these blanketing opposers of sunlight,

Could stand some finer dressing.

Surely the winds will have their fill

And send these clouds, against their will,

Off to the arctic or further still.

Now that would be a blessing.

 

But, alas, winter will have its way.

These clouds will return anyway.

I guess it's a good napping day. 

I'll just give my eyes a resting.

K.L. Dennie  Jan 2022

THE FINAL ROUND-UP

 

He leaned forward on his saddle,

Resting his arm on the horn,

And gazed at the land below.

The sun was setting orange in the western sky,

And in the east,

The full moon began to glow.

He watched contented cattle graze,

Horses nurturing their colts,

And then looked to his calloused hands.

Through many years of blood ,sweat, and tears

He had touched every inch

Of this land.

He had built bridges and fences,

Barns and a home,

And a family who loved him dear.

He looked again o’er the land

 With a smile and a sigh,

And reigned his old horse to the rear.

 And as they walked quietly home

He remembered lean times,

Happy abundance, and drought.

“We’ve seen it all Ol’ Buck”

As he patted the horse,

‘This is what our lives’ have been about.”

With Buck rubbed down in the barn,

The old cowboy pulled off his boots,

 Then reached for the Good Book by his bed.

Then he blew out the candle

 When his reading was done.

He was just too tired to undress.

The rancher didn't rise

As usual with the sun,

So, the hired hand came to call.

Sometime during the night,

The final round up was called,

And the old rancher hung his spurs on the wall.

K.L. Dennie June 2012