Home

Leo "Nyle" Swainston

December 8, 1920 - October 10, 2001

"He Never Met Anyone That Wasn't a Friend"

I know you’ll miss this man

The Lord spoke to the heavy hearts the stood with hands in hand.

"Your sadness pains me deeply and I know you’ll miss this man
But, it’s true what you’ve been hearing. Heaven is a real place.
That’s no small consolation. You should use that fact to face

The emptiness his parting left that seeps into your bones
And draw on it to ease your pain. For he is not alone.
You see, all his friends are up here and all his loved ones, too,
"Cause it wouldn’t be heaven without each one of you.

And heaven for a cowboy is just what you might expect.
It’s horses that need tunin’ up and heifers that need checked.
It’s long rides with a purpose and a code that lights the way
And a satisfying reason to get up every day.

It’s the ranch he’s always dreamed of and never knew he’d find
And if you think about, you can see it in you mind.
Him, leanin’ in the saddle with his ol’ had on his head.
Contentment set upon his face like blankets on a bed.

The leather creaks a little as he shifts there in the seat.
The bit chains give a jingle when his bony switches feet.
And you somehow get the feelin’ that he’s sittin’ on a throne
A’gazin’ out on paradise just like it was his own.

I can promise you he’s happy, though I know you can’t pretend
You’re glad he made the journey. It’s too hard to comprehend.
The earthly way you look at things can never satisfy
Your lack of understanding for the answer to the ‘Why?’

So, I offer this small comfort to put your grief to rest,
I only take the top hands ‘cause my crew’s the very best.
And I know it might seem selfish to friends and next of kin
But I needed one more cowboys and Nyle fit right in."

 

My Cowboy Dad

His legs are bowed by the back of a horse,

For many’s the bronc he has rode.
His hands bear the scar of a lariat’s mark
From the mavericks he’s roped and throwed.

His heart wears the brand of the great golden West,
For he is a son of the plains.
The blue of his eyes are a bit of the skies,
Washed clear from a cool western rain.

He adopted the grace of a wild prairie flower
That sway in the breeze from the West.
His body reflects grandeur of the plains,
For that’s what he knows and loves best.

He could handle an outlaw and ride any bronc.
For his heart was akin to their own.
He knew them and loved them for he was a man
And a saddle to him was a throne.

Tho’ his live as a cowboy now lies in the past,
His memories will never grow dim.
He still wears his 10-gallon hat and his boots.
For they are a part of him.

The king of all cowboys, this son of the plans,
Was the best man the West ever had.
And I worship and love him for all that he is,
And mostly because he’s my dad

This web is lovingly dedicated to my family
Copyright © 2002 by Nyle "Swanee" Swainston">

This web is lovingly dedicated to my family
Copyright © 2002 by Nyle "Swanee" Swainston, except as indicated.  All rights reserved