It was 1910 in the train station in Cheyenne
An old cowboy sitting with pocket knife in hand
Just an old knife he said had it for years
Seen plenty of laughs and many tears
I was thirty in eighteen sixty three
Rode with old Stonewall to see General Lee
Fought for the South to the end
Didn't want to give up but knew we couldn't win
Rode west in seventy two
Spent time with some Lakota Sioux
Traveled down to Texas but didn't stay
Not liking the way the land lay
I broke horses and herded some steers
Drank my share of warm stale beers
But I'll tell friend it's now my trails end
Truth being I have slipped a time or two to sin
I have strived to live my life
Like I keep this old knife
If you neglect it, it becomes useless and dull
And the blade becomes hard to pull
Keep it clean and always sharp
Then maybe you can collect a heavenly harp
The old Cowboy stood and gave me a grin
Saying here take this knife my young friend
As I sat looking at it laying in my hand
Thinking who is this grand old man
As I looked up he was no where in sight
With the gift he left he had shown me the light
Now too my years have flown by
Knowing I have found grace in God's eye
With the old Cowboys advice I kept it maintained
Now as he did I sit here waiting on my final train
Edwin J. Smith
The Old Cowboy Poet
Mar. 29th, 2008
