Last Longhorn

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No one knows where the longhorn goes, but he still lives here. It is my hope that this site will be a campfire-friendly stop on the world-wide cyber prairie. I'll try to keep the coffee boiling as we spin cowboy poems, talk about the politics of the day and gaze at the stars and the moon while coyotes sing in the distance.

Go to my sub domain at if you’d like to leave any comments, messages, cowboy poetry or political rants. Like Baxter Black said: the cowboy’s not gone… you just can’t see him from the road.

Yep, there just aren’t many longhorns or buffaloes left out here now. Come join us in our search. We’ll try to round up a few of the strays before the shipping’s all done in the fall.

No One Knows Where the Longhorn Goes

No one knows where the longhorn goes,

When his breed is scattered and few—

He once was king of the cattle ring,

But his time in this world is through.


We all must go where longhorns go,

When the bone moon falls from the sky—

We will not hide when we ride no more

And the longhorn goes off to die.


Our land must be where longhorns live—

Where we all seek our destiny—

This once was land still full of sand

With longhorns far as you could see.


We all must dream what cowboys dreamt

When they looked out upon the West—

We all should lead the life we need

As we follow the trail that’s best.


We all must go where longhorns grazed

On a ride through the green grass sea—

We all must lead and protect our creed—

But most of all, we should be free.


The path is hard, but we will climb

Up that hill where the longhorn goes—

Though the trail is long, it is not wrong,

When we know what the longhorn knows.   

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