BROOMSTICK HORSE by Joyce Whitelaw
He got off his broomstick horse and climbed in Daddy's knee.
Said I heard you and Grandpa talking about the ranch and you and me.
And you said our way of life might soon be coming to an end.
And I might never be a cowboy like you and Grandpa have been,
You talked about the government, and leases on the land.
And lots of other kinds of stuff I didn't understand.
Now Daddy you just gotta tell me that what you say ain't true.
For all I want to do, you know, is be a cowboy too.
The man leaned back in his chair quite taken by surprise.At the anxious tears and fear he saw in his little boy's worried eyes.Then so carefully he searched for the very best words to say.To answer his question truthfully but still take his fears away.Yes, I'm afraid, son, things will change: they have since time began.And although we may not like it, we do the best we can.For a country's people and customs are shaped by chance and time.And when a new way comes along the old is left behind. Where we live and work today the buffalo once roamed.Grazing free along this range, and the Indian called it home.
Then the white man came along and and took the red man's land away.
For with the with man's way of living, the Indian couldn't stay.
And I suppose it's only right that we must change some too.
But we'll always be a cowboy, no matter what we do.
For as long as there are little boys and broomstick horses, son.
There will always be a cowboy, so don't you worry none.
