| Of Horses and Men |
| It's been told of good horses lost |
| In simple words that cowboys use |
| He dern sure was a good one |
| He's the kind you hate to lose |
| He's the kind you could depend on |
| In the river and the breaks |
| In rough country and wild cattle |
| He'd be the one you'd take |
| His efforts weren't ruled by stature |
| With him you'd finish what you'd start |
| His limits were governed only |
| By the dimension of his heart |
| His expectations were simple |
| Merely fairness from a friend |
| But when he'd feel the need to run |
| It's best not to fence him in |
| Pure poetry in motion |
| As across the plains he'd fly |
| A tried and true compadre |
| In a seasoned cowboy's eye |
| His courage was unmatched by mortal men |
| From conquistadors to kings |
| Cowboys sing his praises |
| At roundups in the spring |
| Ain't it strange how thoughts of horses lost |
| Mirror those of men passed on |
| And though they've gone to glory |
| Their spirit's never gone |
| Sometimes simple words seem best |
| When final words we choose |
| He dern sure was a good one |
| He's the kind you hate to lose |