The Story of Lonesome Cowboy
By Marcia H. Armstrong

Once upon a time
On the Scott Valley Range
Their lived a lonesome cowboy
Didn’t cotton much to change.
 
There were people moving in
Cars a moving way too fast
While he worked a fixin’ fences
Dreamin’ of a slower past.
 
Sometimes he’d saddle Blue
Head straight out for the hills
Escapin’ all the people
Escapin’ rules and bills.
 
One night in the mountains
He got caught by early snow.
He drew his coat around him
As the storm began to blow.
 
He took shelter near a rock
When he couldn’t see the trail.
And he huddled next to Blue
As the winds began to gale.
 
The feeling left his fingers
Even with his heavy gloves.
And he started seeing visions
Of all the things he loves.
 
There’s the first bird song of morning
The valley emerald green
The rush of autumn copper
The salmon in the stream
 
Clear lakes in the highlands
The crimson sky at night
The taste of hot black coffee
An eagle high in flight
 
The smell of cut alfalfa
The hawk upon the post
The cool breeze in the evening
A barbecued tri-tip roast
Of course, majestic mountains
All tipped in snowy white.
Our cowboy’s mind climbed higher
As he passed away that night.
 
If you look up each December
And search the midnight sky
You may catch a star a twinklin’
With the corner of your eye.
 
They say it’s lonesome cowboy
Watchin’ over the things he loves
And counting all our blessings
With the angels up above.
 
They say that in the spring time
That star comes shooting down
And becomes a small white flower
That takes root on valley ground.