Old Cowboy Hat
Shuffling amongst some old dusty boxes I found a box of memory gold,
Damn, your old hat was dusty and dirty and really seemed quite – old.
Memories inundated me after you had gotten the cowboy hat at the western store,
Holding it quietly in my hands – thinking of the tales from long ago and from – before.
That old cowboy hat rode your head like some fine horseman from the days gone by,
You would have given me crap for taking a deep breath or two to hold back a teary eye.
Many nights of honky tonkin’ and spinning some gals as we danced the night away,
Drinking Coors and courting those same gals down by the river in our hidden hideaway.
Back in those days wearing our cowboy hats we liked to fight others just for the grins,
In my mind, I like to think we won those fights, but in truth there were some we didn’t win.
That old cowboy hat went fishing with us every time up in the Rocky Mountains streams,
Your cowboy hat was a witness to our worries, fears, happiness, laughter and – our dreams.
That old cowboy hat if it could talk it could also tell the world about all of our sins,
And it could lay out a map of both of our wanderings of every place we have ever been.
That old cowboy hat had seen the Colorado blistering wind and its bone chilling cold,
Over the Divide with countless hours above timberline watching majestic sunrises unfold.
I remember that very somber autumn day when your mother gave me your old cowboy hat,
She had told me – you had died rolling the pick up at the bend of the river on the South Platte.
Even though you died back in the summer 1978 – I still I still think of you almost every day,
Because in your very short life and during our friendship of all the things I didn’t get to say.
What I would give just for another hour of our friendship so we could sit down and chat,
Never fear, my old friend one day we will meet again, – for now I still have your old cowboy hat.
Kurt James © 2018
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