The Tree

 

Pine tree, I remember when I saw you years ago, We was trailin’ cattle up this mountain through the snow. As I rode by, my stirruped boot just barely brushed your top, I was ridin’ drag, so I thought that I would stop And look at you for a moment and wonder if I’d see A time when you would grow into a genuine Christmas tree.

I noticed you as I rode by every spring and every fall For a dozen years and more, I watched as you grew tall The drive this fall was the last time I’ll ride down this trail When a cowboy gets on in years, some things begin to fail. Your eyes go bad, you miss your loop, by ten o’clock you tire, Now I guess I’ll ride a chair in the bunkhouse by the fire.

But first I thought I’d ride up here and find a Christmas tree. So I brought this packhorse and this cross-cut saw with me I thought that I could saw you down and pack you back to home I figured this could be the last time that up this hill I’d roam. Now up on this mountain all alone I stand With my packhorse by the bridle and the saw in my hand.

Staring at you, tree old friend, try to find the will To use this saw to cut you down and take you down the hill. I look at the saw, and then at you, and at the saw once more I decide that cuttin’ you down would be acting mighty poor I’ll just go into town, there’s a tree stand on the square I expect that I can find a real nice tree down there.

Live a good life, tree old friend, grow straight and tall And remember me when cows trail by here in the fall.

I found this poem, and many others by Steve Lucas, on the website of Western outfitters, F.M. Light & Sons. I have been trying for over a month to reach this author. If anyone knows him or how to contact him, please, let me know. –Terri Mason

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