~~~ We rode in on the flatlands and got ‘em gathered round. The nighthawks sang their quiet songs, to keep ‘em settled down. When the songs run out, they’d quote some verses soft and low, The herd lay hushed and calm as the harvest moon did glow. We broke our rolls upon the dirt, with tarps to guard the damp, And gladly welcomed sleep as it overtook the camp. We dreamed of Cookie’s breakfast with coming of the morn. The best sourdough biscuits since the day we all were born. Coffee stout enough to float the boss’s Spanish spurs, Now and then some fatback in the redeye gravy stirs. Morning seems to never come, the night is long and drear, At last ol’ Cookie squeals “..now come and get it ya’ hear!” And we scurries to the wagon, those visions still in mind, But surely ‘twas a nightmare the things we all would find. No biscuits, cowboy coffee, nor gravy with a ladle, Just fruit and sparklin’ water, cream cheese and a dadgum’ BAGEL! ~~~