Cooking with Dee

Texas Rancher

I gazed out on seven goats
my wife told me she’s wanting
Grandson spends his time and totes
Branches, weeks belonging

Rancher, farmer, still it’s work
Fences to mend, stock to herd

My years as a dairyman
Are not long forgotten
The ranch is what a man
Does to know that I have gotten

My stripes, earned those
This isn’t poetry, it’s prose

Rancher, farmer, still it’s work
Fences to mend, stock to herd

Now I have beef bulls and cows
No dairying left to do
But running a goat hobby farm
Is not what I aspired to

Rancher, farmer, still it’s work
Fences to mend, stock to herd

Owned by DAC 8/2/08

Please see notes re: The Little Cowboy and references, if desired. No way I’m sending this in to the Cowboy poets for the Lariat Laureate award but I’m OK to put it out in the world through you. Remember it’s my poem and I own it so whoever writes the music, please write in!

This is loosely based on Jim’s Dad, who may or may not like it. Right now it’s too late to check. Anyway Joe, I love you and mean no disrespect to you or Margie. It’s just the way the words went in my mind. Joe, in addition to being a farmer and rancher and Civil War history guru, is also a poet. He has a great son, two of them but I’m only married to one.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend! We went to brunch this morning at ten then had two lovely ladies over for a while so Zoe could jump on them and go crazy, then went to the movies (we saw Mamma Mia and Jim and Trish saw X-Files). Then we went to a Mexican place for late lunch/early dinner and got back at five! Where did the day go?