Back from El Paso,
I hung up my lasso,
Believing the trail had gone cold.
The murdering thief
Who slaughtered my beef
Would never wear tie and blindfold.
I gave up my spread
Pouring whiskey instead
Only fools thought that life should be fair.
But when drink loosened a tongue,
The man’s secrets were sprung
I meted out justice right there.

-Stephen D. Rogers, Buzzards Bay, Mass.

"Cowboy up," he heard 'em call as he settled in for his ride. "Okay, boys!" he hollered back and with all other thoughts aside, He came out of that chute like a bat out of hell; he would make history today. He knows he can go the eight seconds, but when he's done, can he walk away? That chute is sacred ground to most where only few have dared to tread. He knows pride goes before the fall so he would count on his wits instead.

For him, it is not the fame and fortune that holds his spirit true. If respect is earned through sweat and tears then he has surely paid his dues. He was flirting with disaster with each and every ride. Some may call it rodeo but others call it suicide. For some, the price you pay is high, but tradition outweighs the cost. Where would rodeo be today without the likes of Thurman and Frost?

He rode for all he was worth that day and in his heart, he had no doubt They were smiling down on him because that's what it's all about. If he left with some change in his pocket when all was said and done And a buckle of gold to hold up his Wranglers, he would feel he had truly won. For he knew it was only destiny that stood between him and each win. He would show them his pride, make his ride and then hit the road again.

Thunder rolled through the grandstands that day as he picked himself up off the ground. He had captured another world title... he had won the last go round. When his final ride was over, and memories were all that remain, He would look back on themfondly and recall the love of the game. Then one day he would close his eyes and take his final breath, But he would always be remembered for his life and not his death,

Because a cowboy as tough as Jim Shoulders will never truly die, He will ride another bull someday in the rodeo in the sky.

Aband that is soiled by sweat and dirt On a hat that is weathered and worn. Rubber strands wrapped again and again 'Round the base of a saddle horn.

His dog asleep in the sunshine, Dreamin' of workin' cows again Raises an ear at sounds of a footstep, Wondering where the cowboy has been.

A corral full of good looking horses, Content to munch on their hay. A rope coiled for the last time By hands that had earned their pay.

All reminders of a cowboy Whose life was cut short in its prime. Daily threads of his life unraveled To help us remember a happier time.

The hat can remind us of his roping Steers called for by the nod of his brim. Now he's made it to the short go, His partner named Jesus and him.

The saddle and rope are trademarks Of the cowboy's lifestyle and work. Calves roped and drug to the fire Or stopped in mid-stride with a jerk.

His dog was his constant companion, Helping with work no hired hand could do, Waiting patiently in the pickup, Until his cowboy was through.

But of all the reminders left of this cowboy, The best are the ones here today, The friends, the family, and memories They can treasure in their hearts every day.