This is a poem I wrote for my good friend Brian Howell, who finally succumbed to a brain tumor last spring after giving it a valiant fight. He survived chemo, radiation, and several operations where they told him, "We think we got it all." We miss you, Brian.
THE COWBOY—TOO TOUGH TO DIE
I can’t believe he’s gone—the cowboy rode too tall to die;
Now he’s sitting that old saddle, riding herd up in the sky.
He didn’t stand too tall of stature; some might have even called him small;
But it’s what’s inside that really counted, and he was taller than them all.
I can’t believe it beat him, that hungry beast that knows no friends;
But the cowboy kept on laughing, right up to the bitter end.
He never lost his sense of humor—never lost his sense of love;
And we know he’s standing guard now, from his cow horse up above.
I can’t believe our cowboy rode on, to ranges way up in the sky;
Too tell the truth, we thought he’d beat it, and he’d keep on riding high.
Now tall in the saddle he smiles, up on the mountain they call Scout;
Even if that funeral pyre claims our cowboy has bucked out.
He left a wife and left a family, who will fly his banner high;
Who will long to see him smiling, from his saddle in the sky.
And the friends who called him brother, will keep the campfire burning bright;
For the buckaroo we all loved dearly, who rides the sky tonight.
We will miss our compañero, till the angels call us home;
For he left us way too young, those far-off ranges for to roam.
We will hear him in the thunder, and in the breezes’ sigh;
We will miss our smiling partner until the day we die.
—Kirby Jonas, May 3, 2011
I can’t believe he’s gone—the cowboy rode too tall to die;
Now he’s sitting that old saddle, riding herd up in the sky.
He didn’t stand too tall of stature; some might have even called him small;
But it’s what’s inside that really counted, and he was taller than them all.
I can’t believe it beat him, that hungry beast that knows no friends;
But the cowboy kept on laughing, right up to the bitter end.
He never lost his sense of humor—never lost his sense of love;
And we know he’s standing guard now, from his cow horse up above.
I can’t believe our cowboy rode on, to ranges way up in the sky;
Too tell the truth, we thought he’d beat it, and he’d keep on riding high.
Now tall in the saddle he smiles, up on the mountain they call Scout;
Even if that funeral pyre claims our cowboy has bucked out.
He left a wife and left a family, who will fly his banner high;
Who will long to see him smiling, from his saddle in the sky.
And the friends who called him brother, will keep the campfire burning bright;
For the buckaroo we all loved dearly, who rides the sky tonight.
We will miss our compañero, till the angels call us home;
For he left us way too young, those far-off ranges for to roam.
We will hear him in the thunder, and in the breezes’ sigh;
We will miss our smiling partner until the day we die.
—Kirby Jonas, May 3, 2011
