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COWBOYS DON'T CRY
I fear the best part of me
died in the war.
The cocky, tough cowboy
I was, was no more.
With eyes that were shell-shocked,
I saw Hell explode;
as a field of God's finest,
the strafing planes mowed.
As I dove from the horror
that hailed from the sky,
I thought of the man that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"
From his torn shreds of flesh
I could hear not a sound,
as I saw my best buddy's blood
pool on the ground.
With eyes that were screaming
and no longer dry,
I scoffed at the man that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"
The bomb-blasted ground was
stained dirty red;
and was littered with limbs
of the dismembered dead.
Satan's mad demons,
I met them that day-
and I saw what Hell looked like.
I learned how to pray.
With fists full of fury
I shook at the sky;
and I cursed the damn fool that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"
Bette Wolf Duncan © June 30, 2007
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