His Ranch

Ranch Sunrise 1_edited-1

Watch and listen to a reading of His Ranch

His Ranch
David De Jong

Coffee’s on, bacon’s fryin’ in the pan,
The day will awake soon, its part of the plan.
The choir has already started, each soloist perched in her tree,
High time to get rollin’, crack The Good Book, bend a knee.
The air is crisp, sun’s beginin’ to rise,
It’ll be a good day – time to pack-up supplies.
Coffee in the thermos, a sandwich and a cookie, for something sweet,
No matter what you bring, when it’s eaten outside, it’ll be a treat.
With a jug of fresh water, won’t be a need before sun-down to make the trip back,
Even the dog gets a biscuit, down there, in the bottom of the sack.

Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed, to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just: “Do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.

Strand by strand feel the wire, as it’s pulled taught, post to post,
Twisted, stapled, a boundary, a symbol, respected by most.
The horses will smile with a sigh as they graze this new grass,
Spring calves will soon join them, kicking their heels as they pass.
Grass on the hill, fresh water a-plenty flowing through the creek,
Each stone a monument; what would they tell, if they could speak?
Would it be of horses grazing long ago, bareback riders, or a sleepy toad?
Would they remember the buffalo, the wolf, the pioneer along the road?
Friends and enemies, family and foe,
All pass this ranch, we all have to go.

Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed, to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just: “Do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.

The clouds pass majestic, as they can be,
Never the same are you allowed to see.
A storm begins to brew, with a wind from the east,
Those same clouds churn and turn, to a mighty beast.
The rain pours down, and with a crack of lightin’ to the ground;
The fence is down, and herd runs free, fleeing the thunderous sound.

With rain runnin’ down my back, from the brim of my hat,
I laugh at the dog, lookin’ like another drowned rat.
He’s full of life, content, happy as can be,
There’s nowhere else, he’d rather be.
Much the same myself, I must admit,
This doesn’t change a thing, just makes me spit.

Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed, to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just: “Do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.

Time passes slowly, and tends to get lonely, sittin’ here on the bench,
But there’s a town nearby, with plenty a folk, you can tell by the stench.
Don’t seem to have a-yearnin’, to ride in, and spend much time there,
Cept for Sunday mornin’ church, supplies, or occasional social affair.
The air is fresh, the pasture’s green, you can’t deny the magic of this land,
Each blade of grass, leaf of the tree, created with purpose, from His hand.

Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just: “Do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.

Winter will return and the cold winds will blow,
Even then there will be beauty, unspeakable in the snow.
The season will pass, like all seasons do,
It’s a prayer, its God’s Grace, that’l get you through.
So join me; enjoy the day, cherish the pleasure, or lament the loss,
If its healing or forgiveness you need, He put it there, up on the cross.
He’s done His part, now it’s time to do mine,
There’s times I truly believe, He’s givin’ me a sign.
With a debt of gratitude, far too steep to pay,
I’ll gladly work in awe, here, on His Ranch today.

Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just: “Do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.

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