I was told by a practitioner of this type of poetry that this piece is occassionally performed by someone at Cowboy Poetry festivals and competitions. One of these days I'll try to locate the man that performs it and try to get a live recording. A silly undertaking, but probably fun. If you decide to try it yourself, let me know the results.

Now young Jack Potter was a man who knowed the way of steers.
From burr-nests in their hairy tailes to ticks that chewed their ears;
A Texan and a cowhand, to the saddle bred and born,
He could count a trail herd on the move and never miss a horn.

But one day on a tally, back in eighteen eighty-four,
He go to acting dreamy, and he sure did miss his score.
The Old Man knowed the symptoms."Jack you ain't no good like this,
I'll give you just ten days to go and find what is amiss."

A "Miss" was just what ailed him, for he'd fell in love - and stuck -
With sweet Miss Cordy Eddy, fresh from Louisville, Kentuck.
So now Jack rode a hundred miles, a-sweatin' with the thought
Of sweetsome words to ask here with, the way a fella ought:

"I'm just a humble cowhand, Miss Cordie, if you please,
That hereby asks your heart and hand, upon my bended knees."
It sounded mighty simple, thus rehearsed upon the trail.
But when he come to Cordie's house, his words just seemed to fail.

'Twas "Howdy Ma'am" and "How's the crops?" and "How's your Pa?"
But when it came to asking her, he couldn't come to taw.
He took her to a dance one nights; the hoss she rode was his.
"He's a dandy little hoss," she says, and "Yep," says Jack, "He is."

They rode home late together and the moon was ridin' high,
And Jack, he got to talkin' about the stars up in the sky,
And how they'd guide a trail herd like they do sea-goin' ships.
But words of love and marriage, they just wouldn't pass his lips.

So he spoke about the pony she was ridin' and he said:
"You'll note he's fancy-gaited, and don't ever fight his head."
"He's sure a dandy," she agreed, and heaved a little sigh.
Jack says, "Why you can have him - that is, maybe when I die."

He figured she might savvy what he meant - or maybe guess,
And give that sweet answer which he hoped for, namely, "Yes."
But when they reached the ranch house he was still a-wonderin' how
He would ever pop the question - and he had to do it now.

Or wait and sweat and suffer 'till the drive was done that fall,
When maybe she'd be married, and he'd lose her after all.
He put away her saddle, led his pony to the gate,
"I reckon I'll be driftin', ma'am, for it is getting late."

Her eyes were bright as star-light and her lips looked sweet as flowers;
Says Jack, "Now, this here pony, is he mine - or is he ours?"
"Our pony, Jack," she answered, and her voice was soft as moss.
Then Jack, he claims he kissed her - but she claims he kissed the hoss!