An ancient longhorned bovine lay dying by the river,
There was a lack of vegetation and the cold winds made him shiver,
A cowboy sat beside him with sadness on his face,
To see his final passing--the last of a noble race.Tell the new breed corn-fed cattle when they come grazing around,
And see me lying stark and stiff upon the frozen ground,
If they attempt to eat me they very soon will see,
That my bones and hide are petrified; they'll find no beef on me.I remember back in the '70s--full many summers past,
There was grass and water plenty but it was too0 good to last,
I little dreamed what would happen some 20 summers hence,
When the nester came with his wife and kids, his dogs and his barbed wire fence.And the cowboy riz sadly and mounted his old cayouse,
The time has come when cowboys and longhorns are no use,
And while gazing sadly backward upon the dead bovine,
His bronc stepped in a dog hole, fell and broke his spine.Art Thieme (Don't know where I found this...)