Etched In My Bones Is The Life Of A Cowgirl (Poem)

Deep down, in the DNA, I am weathered;

Wind whipped and weather worn, like my saddle.

Dry and parched, sun bleached and frost weary,

My limbs succumb to the ways of this farm.

Heavy loads, hay laden, warming heart beats of newborns in my arms.

These arms, these hands, so blistered,

Wind whipped and weather worn, like my saddle.

My arms, now older, still reaching;

Grabbing halters, brushes and combs.

I reach for the neck the of my horse,

Wrapping arms, holding tight, never letting go.

I was like this when I was ten;

Today I am fifty.

How the time has flown.

These arms, they have held a child.

That child is grown now too.

I smile as I reflect.

She too, grabs halters, brushes and combs.

Will her DNA call her too?

For me, I will be like this still, when I am eighty.

Wrapping arms, holding tight, never letting go.

Deep down, in my DNA, I am weathered;

Wind whipped and weather worn, like my saddle.

My life will be remembered through barn doors.

Soft nickers, warm head rubs from my barn friends.

I have watched the world spin from this barn.

9/11, economic crashes, tumultuous elections;

Chaos, order, disorder.

Yet never, in all those decades, did my world come crashing down.

Warm evenings, cool breezes, drifting through my barn doors,

As the smell of hay permeates my brain.

My saddle waits in the corner, ready for another giddy-up sorta day.

My horse, she waits for me too.

When I am ninety, I will sit here, still.

And when I can sit here no more,

My spirit will fly here, my ashes will rest here,

And I will be home.

~ by Lori Davis of HiBar Ranch

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