James H. Smith


Last year, bout twenty years or so ago old Bob died
Seems like yesterday, I saw grown men cry
A bad fall, his horse went down in that rock filled draw
Bob and Old Buck never had a chance at all
Year before I remember Bob had turned fifty three
Back then an old man to us young bucks you see
Jim and Nate have followed Bob down that same long trail
Now I’m the one sittin’ round the fire tellin’ all the old tales
Seems like more and more friends I call on just to say hey
They’ve done packed up, left their old shell behind and moved away
It’s got to the point after all is done and said
Would be no surprise at all
to wake up one of these mornings and find myself dead