Russ Edwards

Young cowboys …
Fearless falcons fast across the sky.
Living in each moment;
Bullet proof and never asking why.
            Fast cars, fast trucks and living free
            Impatient youth impatiently
            Waiting for the weekends
            When they fly.
                        We call them cowboys …

We got – middle age cowboys.
Grounded falcons talking over beers.
Wallets full of photographs;
Memories of joys and tears and fears.
            Big cars, big trucks and kids and wives
            Some rebuilding broken lives;
            Some still chasing dreams of
            Younger years.
                        We call them cowboys …

            They drive trucks, they drive the steel,
            They work the fact’ries and the mills;
            Some still even ride the rodeo.
            Bus’ness suits and Harley scars
            Country clubs and roadside bars;
            We find them cowboys
            Ev’rywhere we go.

Old cowboys …
Tellin’ tales ‘bout times when they were high.
Stretching out each moment,
Wond’ring how the years flew swiftly by.
            Fast cars, fast trucks and living free
            Reduced tocolored memories;
            Looking back on days when they could fly.
                        We still call them cowboys ...