Growin’ Old With Harley

This poem was inspired by a post I read from my pal, Duane Nelson, who was grieving about his aging horse, and by a painting by my amigo, Gregory Mayse.

Growin’ Old With Harley

Look at you my trusty old friend,
You, my once-in-a-lifetime horse.
You must be 'bout twenty-five now.
You’re the best I ever had, of course.

Recall when we’d work the day long,
Cowboyin’ can’t see through can?
Just livin’ the life we were born to,
Like our kind since cowboyin’ began?

Now? Well we’re just plum tuckered.
Me? I’m holdin' up this stout tree,
Mindlessly scratchin’ ol’ Shep's ears.
'Spect we're due some loafin’ we three.

It’s a bittersweet tender memory,
Ponderin' the tests we’ve won.
The day was we were the very best,
But now it seems we’re about done.

I recall days back in your prime,
When I'd mornin' rattle the oat pan,
I knew you'd run from the north forty.
You'd come gallopin’ as fast as you can.

You walk with some restriction now,
Purty much slow moseyin' like me.
Reckon we're wearing out old pard.
This might be the best it's gonna be.

I seen your heart was in it, but
After brush poppin' last week for Fred,
Come morn you was mighty stove up.
Truth is we both wanted stayin’ abed.

I'm thinkin' the worst might be,
Even if I've still got the want-to,
When I get too crippled up,
New colt breakin' I just cain't do.

And I really don't 'spect I can afford
To buy a new horse near as good
With savvy and stick like you, Friend.
Wouldn't want to even if I could.

It looks like we might be gettin'
To that age where our sweet times
Are more behind us than in front,
But we still recall them in rhymes.

Maybe it's time we should face it,
And just mosey to the diner at sunup
For coffee and lyin' to our pards,
To see who we can best 'one-up'.

But just once before we sell our tack,
Lets show 'em we can still ride.
Let me warm that mornin' blanket
And toss it onto your backside.

Then we'll trailer out to the pens,
And drag a few to the fire,
Showin' 'em our sand and 'can-do',
Just one more time ere we retire.

Might be they'll remember us, Harley,
When our pards gather at the cafe.
They just might agree we were the team
Who did more'n our share ever’ day.

by Rik "Yonder" Goodell
© 2025 All rights reserved

This painting, by Gregory Mayse, of three pards having a rest, speaks to me of the friendships and loyalty that develop between a cowboy and his critters over some years of tough trails.

For more of this artist's work, go to his website:

https://www.gregorymayse.com/