December 23, 2008

• Cowboy Christmas

  Draggin’ the Tree

      The cowboy ain’t no lumberjack,
         an’ if you want the facks,
      One thing he ain’t the fondest of
         is choppin’ with an axe.
      But when December snow has got
         the range all wrapped in white,
      There is one job of choppin’
         that he seems to like all right.
      A sharp ax on his shoulder,
         he will ride off up the draw
      Until he finds an evergreen
         without a single flaw.
      A spruce, a fir, a juniper
         that’s shaped just to a T
      To set up in a corner
         for the ranchhouse Christmas tree.

      As like as not, last summer
         while a-ridin’ after cows
      He noticed just the tree he wants,
         with green and graceful boughs
      That’s stout enough to ornament
         without no droop nor saggin’,
      But still a tree that ain’t too big
         to fetch without a wagon.
      It may be that he picked it out
         when August sun was hot,
      But he knows where to find it,
         For his mind has marked the spot.

      It ain’t no chore to chop it down,
         an’ if the snow is deep
      He drags it in behind his horse.
         It warms him up a heap
      To see them rancher kids
         run out a-hollerin’ with glee
      To watch him an’ admire him
         when he’s bringin’ the tree.

  

      Them kids may not belong to him,
         but that don’t matter none—
      His boss’ brood, a nester’s brats—
         It’s still a heap of fun
      To some ol’ lonesome cowpoke,
         an’ it sets his heart aglow
      To come a-draggin’ in the tree
         across the Christmas snow.
      Sometimes when there’s a schoolmarm
         an’ she wants a tree at school,
      She gets half a dozen.
         for you’ll find that as a rule
      At least that many cowboys,
         in sweet education’s cause,
      Will somehow get to feelin’
         That they’re kin to Santy Claus!

      Sometimes the rangeland’s lonesome
      an’ sometimes it’s kind o’ grim,
      But not when every ranchhouse
      has a Christmas tree to trim.
      An’ though the wild cowpuncher
      ain’t no hand to swing an ax,
      Across the white December snow
      you’ll often find his tracks
      A-leadin’ to the timber,
      then back out again once more,
      A-draggin’ in the Christmas tree—
      his purt near favorite chore!

  from Classic Rhymes
  by S. Omar Barker (1894-1985)

  • 4:08 pm
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