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LONG TRAIL by Gene Minix Sometimes the trail is long And lonely it can be. The sun is hot, the mouth grows dry. Home I'm longing to see. The sand blows on my face. The dang buzzards fly overhead. With devilish eyes looking down And probably wishing we's dead. But we's ain't dead you rascals. Did you hear what I said? Sure, my skin is tanned and tough, And my horse longs to be fed. But, I'm gonna make it And Old Paint, he will, too. He's surefooted and water in sight. Together we'll make it through. For the Lord's watching over us. And the trail cools at night. The night breeze feels good And home is in sight. So let's move along, Old Paint. In the barn is fresh hay. We're just about home now And everything is okay. © Copyright 2018, by Gene Minix. All rights reserved. |
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