The woman was proud of her heritage,
Her figure stood straight and tall.
One to ride the river with,
To side with your back to the wall.
She shaded her eyes against the sunlight,
Watching the horse come slowly her way.
The form on it’s back was hunched forward,
The horse’s movement caused it to sway.
The beast stopped at the watering trough,
Gratefully it’s nuzzle buried deep.
The form rolled from the saddle,
Joined the animal’s simple treat.
The form turned into a man,
Who wiped running liquid with his arm.
He pulled on the horse’s bridle,
“That’s enough hoss,” He croaked.
“Got to keep you from harm.”
The woman crossed over,
“You’re a stranger here abouts.”
Cupping his hat in work worn hands,
“Yes ma’am, I am, that’s no doubt.
Got any groceries? Beans, maybe some ham
Maybe a few eggs? Plumb tired of peaches
And syrup coming from a can.”
“I have some beans on the back fire,
Hit the hen house if you want.
There’s a shoulder in the smokehouse,
But it’s mostly gone but the bone.”
There’s a wash pan out back of the house.
A rag to dry your face.
Welcome to the H-P Ranch
Reckon, this is my place.
Appraising eyes glanced over the home place,
He could tell the lack of a man.
He wondered at the absence,
But he was willing to lend a hand.
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