No Spurs a-Jingling    He died in the backroom of his house outside of town a picture of Jesus above his bed kindly looking down   there were no spurs a-jingling as they walked him out nor fiddle music swirling that he'd of liked no doubt   just a few old hands gathered at the cemetery plot to say goodbye and laugh a bit while the sun was hot   they spoke about a guy with heart and friendship true but every deal he made was never thought clear through   that's how they called him "Shorty" even if he was tall yet he just plugged along like the bouncin' of a ball   but if you needed cow work done he'd offer you a hand to work and sweat all day cause he could rope and brand   though they was times  he took to drinkin' and was gone he'd show up after a spell ready to work again at dawn   he had no family hereabouts anybody had ever seen one ex who lived in Kansas from before things was lean   then he got stove up from a  fall and things went slim to bad but he would smile and tell you old stories about his dad   lookin' past the stories you could see a guy who'd tried using all his cowboy logic when any good had shied   he'd lived a simple life and his belongings were not much just necessary things that had sat still from his last touch   another cowboy lost on the trail drive cross this earth remembered by a few who'd ridden with him since his birth   and so the story goes about this cowboy from our town with a picture of Jesus on the wall kindly looking down

©Steve Dirksen