Here’s To You, Olin

There’s an empty saddle in the old corral
A good cowpony’s head hanging low.
The cold wind moans through the cottonwoods
There’s nothing there to soften the blow.
He had just turned 47
When he was called to the Promised Land
Now you folks that didn’t know him
I’ll tell you up front he was a hell of a hand.
To be called a hell of a hand in Wyoming
Is about as good a compliment as a cowboy can get.
He certainly earned that title
You can damn sure bet.
No matter if he was wearing mechanics’ overalls,
Or wearing black hat, boots and chinks
He was giving the job all he had.
He worked through the rough spots and kinks.
From the hearing rooms in our nation’s capitol
As president of the NACD
To punching cows on his beloved ranch
Or doing his auctioneering for free.
He left some mighty big tracks
That none of us will be able to fill
But if we all work together
We just might be able to climb that hill.
There’s a short verse I’d like to pass along
There were words of the late Michael Landon
We find comfort in these words
They were favorites of my son.
“Remember me with smiles and laughter
Cause that’s how I remember you all.
If you remember me with tears and sorrow
Then don’t remember me at all.”
No more broken shoulders or vertebras
You’ll love the relief you so deserve
We know you’re in a better place now
A place God for you did reserve.
I wrote this poem many years ago
And much comfort in it I do find
I want to feel there is a ranch up there
Where a cowboy can find piece of mind.
“Life has been quite a party, friends,
Yes, life has been quite a show.
But I just signed on with the Lord’s big spread
And now it is time to go.
The wagons are all loaded
The cattle are gathered below.
The sky is blue, the breeze is light
For up yonder there is no rain, sleet nor snow
We’ll trail his herd forever
On grass that’s green and sweet
No lightning, thunder or howling winds
To blow you off your feet.
‘Look me up when you get up here, Dad,
And we’ll share a cup of brew
And if the Lord ain’t lookin’
We’ll go head and heel a steer or two.’
Now there is one thing for certain
And this we all know
When you come to the end of your rope
I reckon it is your time to go.”
We all love you and will miss you son,
I just want you to know
You’re not really gone till forgotten
But your passing was a terrible blow.
~ Don L. Sims, December 2007
    Thanks to Steve and Holly Beumee of McFadden for sharing this poem Don Sims wrote for his late son Olin, a man we will all remember as a great friend and a leader in Wyoming’s agricultural community.                Dennis