Wind of Change

At the end of the dirty thirties

There were changes at the Lake,

F.B. he was retiring,

I guess he had made his stake.

Another would be seated

In the Boss Man's usual place.

The new guy knew his business

That, no one could deny,

For he had been a stockman

From the time he was knee high.

He had no time for the polo string

That was plain to see,

And less for the pony wrangler

You guessed it that was me.

New brooms have a habit of sweeping clean

So it is often said,

The sweepers aim to sweep out the drips

Along with the wood thats dead.

But, watch the stroke or you may sweep

Old loyalties out instead,

The first to feel the flick of the broom

To the spread I was no loss.

Me, I was just a saddle tramp

Working for bacon and beans.

Missed the chance of a brand of my own 

Chasing some idle dreams.

When you follow a vagrant trail.

In a score of different lands

You worry not at having to move,

When the outfit changes hands

You got to make the best of things.

Taking them as they are

If you can't find anything close to hand

Then you got to travel far.

There's a trait to ride

A place to camp,

Some sowbelly in the skillet.

When you make a mistake you go on your way 

Keep going and leave it behind.

Life's trip is a one way ticket,

There is no way of return.

To sit and brood in an ugly mood

Is only the way of a fool.
If you blow your stake

 At a roll of the dice,

Or a full house beats your pair,

There's another time in another game

When fortune will treat you fair. 

The grass that grows inside the fence

With that on the range outside,

Is fresh and green in the warm spring rain.

In the fall it is withered and dry.

Changing times in the lives of men

Are like the sun and the rain,

This season they are with you,

In the next, come round again.