Storm clouds are gatherin’ as I saddle ol’ Buck,
I’ll get that fence mended with speed an’ some luck

Out here on the prairie, where land meets the sky,
the lightnin’ can get fierce an’ strike too near by

Storms come up quick an’ ya better seek shelter,
rain, sleet, an’ hail make ya run helter-skelter

Cattle get restless, they sometimes stampede,
an’ ya need hardened rovers ridin’ drag an’ the lead



Today I’ll be watchin’ them clouds o’re my head
‘cause storms on the praire are the worst, it’s been said

So I pack up my gear, my slicker n’ such,
slouch hat, an’ long coat, hope I won’t need ‘em much

Tie a scarf ‘round my neck to keep out the dust
case them dirt-devils twirl an’ kick up a fuss

Its seven miles out, I’ll be workin’ all day,
an’ I'd better make haste or there’ll be heck to pay

The skies turnin’ dark, an’ clouds are now black
as I ease on ol’ Buck, he snorts an’ rears back

Guess he smells trouble out there on the range
so we’d best get the job done for the weather does change

We reach destination, I unload my stuff,
I’m stretchin’ barbed wire over ground that is rough

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I work like the devil, I plum bust my tail,
an’ just as I finish comes lightnin’ an’ hail

I leap on ol’ Buck in my slicker an’ coat,
the strikes are so close my heart’s in my throat

We head for the ranch on the gallop an’ run,
rain pours down my collar, it sure ain’t no fun

But just as we reach the last mile of fence
there’s fire in the sky, an’ smoke starts to commence

Along the horizon flames are now leapin’,
straight up my spine them chills come a creepin’

‘Cause I see at the ranch the barn is on fire,
men pass water pails an’ it’s my first desire

To prod ol’ Buck faster as we come ‘round the bend,
if we lose them prize mares it’ll be ‘most a sin

Then, my heart starts to quiet, see the horses are free,
their runnin’ about makes me holler with glee

I jump off my mount an’ we all put it out,
then slap each one’s back, whistle an’ shout

That’s what we do out here on the range,
we help one another, an’ to some that seems strange



But Cowboys ‘ll survive, it’s part of our creed
to buck bales, an’ ride herd, an’ do a good deed

An’ I’m proud to be one, I won’t hang my head,
ain’t no man I envy or life I’d choose instead.

Poetry by Tamara Hillman… Copyright 2005
Write To Tamara