Why, you may say

It had to come - someday

Time has taken it’s toil

On this tired old vagabond soul.

Ain’t it a shame

The older I get

The more intense the pain

This disease has set in

That make my thoughts no longer my friend.

Ready to paint my white war horse

Gallop into the sacred Holy Land

Hold up by the Jordan's edge

Be led through the raging flood

Travel across the universe

Where ever my Master’s voice is being heard

Remembering the promises in His Word.

And be astonished

In awe of the power and love

Coming Vengeance and true friendship

Regal Royalty yet grafted kinship.

Wash me through the waters

Refresh my brain

Let it rain

Do it, over and over again

Make this madman sane.

For time has taken it’s toil

On this tired old vagabond soul

Saddled and gazing

My eyes horizontal hazing

Patiently waiting

Anticipating

To say ‘Getty up’

Nudge my spurs in her sides

And commence with the next part of the ride.

No sad farewells

As Dale said to Roy. . . . .

“Happy Trails”