September 02, 2006
Thunder Butte Trail Drive
Lightning flashed and crackled across the plain
Lighting steers and horses mane
Thunder peeling off the clouds, hit
Thunder Butte bounced and rocked as another
Bolt of lightning struck
In pelting rain and dark of night , wind
Howling down again the lightning lit
The trailing cattle and struggling men
Who dank and tired worked on in vain
To just make camp despite there pain
As another bolt of emerald fire lit up
The butte and miles of empty, desolate space
Tel-tales danced and sparked along the
Herd leaping fairy froth from horn to horn
And back again to lick across the horse`s mane
This night spawned in some devil`s brain
Grew steadily cold and wet and wild
The howling wind thunder born
Spoke about the need of man
To bridge destructive mean for one more
Notch in our human dream
Bawling calves their mother`s lost
Bellowing mad the old gal`s best yet to tear
The squatter`s dream with horn and hoof
As always aloof to the cowboy`s need
Another bolt of static blue sprinkled across
A dead black sky rent by steaming canon bleeds
A muddy horn in the pony`s gut, the wrangler curse
Down he`s gone amidst the herd just a groan
And you are all alone
In this cursed rain with clouds of ink the wrangler died
Alone and cold as nature howled and claimed her own
--John Crowley
Lighting steers and horses mane
Thunder peeling off the clouds, hit
Thunder Butte bounced and rocked as another
Bolt of lightning struck
In pelting rain and dark of night , wind
Howling down again the lightning lit
The trailing cattle and struggling men
Who dank and tired worked on in vain
To just make camp despite there pain
As another bolt of emerald fire lit up
The butte and miles of empty, desolate space
Tel-tales danced and sparked along the
Herd leaping fairy froth from horn to horn
And back again to lick across the horse`s mane
This night spawned in some devil`s brain
Grew steadily cold and wet and wild
The howling wind thunder born
Spoke about the need of man
To bridge destructive mean for one more
Notch in our human dream
Bawling calves their mother`s lost
Bellowing mad the old gal`s best yet to tear
The squatter`s dream with horn and hoof
As always aloof to the cowboy`s need
Another bolt of static blue sprinkled across
A dead black sky rent by steaming canon bleeds
A muddy horn in the pony`s gut, the wrangler curse
Down he`s gone amidst the herd just a groan
And you are all alone
In this cursed rain with clouds of ink the wrangler died
Alone and cold as nature howled and claimed her own
--John Crowley
Mike Crowley Saturday, September 02, 2006