Although the Wrangler has left the ranch, Within our hearts he'll be enshrined, For now he's gone to the last roundup, Leaving the rest of us behind.
The sky was the Wrangler's favorite rooftop; Walls couldn't pen him in. To him the slow destruction of nature's Wonders was a cardinal sin.
The saddle was his poetry-- His homage to life, a living ode. When not on his horse, you'd see him riding His two-wheeled "horse" on the open road.
An expert storyteller he was. How he delighted us with his tales! His theory: a little embellishment Never hurts when all else fails.
And write! How the Wrangler could write-- Each of his letters a work of art, A masterpiece of expression, replete With wit and charm that flowed from his heart.
Fishing, hunting, philosophizing, Photography, and art to boot: His varied interests, but interest in YOU Was maybe his greatest attribute.
Sometimes when his patience dwindled, He could lose it, and who could blame him. His wife, Barrie, had to try To tug on his reins to try to tame him.
A legend in his time, he was-- A striking presence wherever he went. And spending money to help other People--to him--was money well spent.
Although to the last roundup he's gone, The Wrangler's lasting imprint survives. As we say our good-byes, remember How he enriched all of our lives.