It's seen some wear, this old hat
That hangs unused and frayed,
Its stompede string still intact
Of fancy horsehair braid.
The trails it rode long ago
When wire did not fence out,
Now seem long passed and forgot
Like cowboys whoop and shout.
Though used no more, this old hat
Still hangs behind the door,
Waiting to be worn again
Down a dusty trail once more.
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