The Cowman’s Loss.
E. A. Brininstool. Trail Dust of a Maverick, 1914.
The Little Feller’s gone away!
Seems like the sunshine’s gone, somehow,
Without him taggin’ ‘round at play.
There ain’t a cowboy on the place
But thought the world o’ him, and more,
When he would come, with smilin’ face,
A-toddlin’ in the bunkhouse door.
The boys ain’t joshin’ as they ride—
Why, they ain’t been so still fer years!
It broke ‘em up when baby died,
And more’n one I’ve seen in tears.
And there is somethin’ in their grip
And handclasp that stampedes my heart,
And sends me out with quiverin’ lip,
And eyes that jest fill up and smart!
We used to see him ev’ry night
When we’d ride up to the corral.
Blamed if he wa’n’t a purty sight
With them long curls we loved so well!
I reckon kids like him is rare
Among the sunshine and the flowers
On that big Heaven Range up there,
So God He jest sent down fer ours.
The dogs they miss that kid o’ mine,
‘Cuz where he went they’d trot along;
They hang around the house and whine,
Jest like they sensed they’s somethin’ wrong.
The poor dumb critters seem to know
The little pard they loved ain’t near—
I don’t see why he had to go
And leave us all alone down here!
Seems like we cain’t git used to it!
The hull big world is dark and lone!
It ain’t the same ol’ ranch a bit,
Now that the Little Feller’s gone!
But heaven is sure a sunny place,
And some day, on that golden shore,
We’re goin’ to feel his rosy face
A-snugglin’ down to ours once more!