It was a silent night, clear and cold like long ago
The moon and stars shining bright, as Old Charlie worked on his goal.
Slipping the old High Back to the ground, tying a ribbon to the horn
With a tag to Jimmy Brown, setting it gently by the door.
As he walked limping down the road, leading that old bay.
wishing it weren’t so darn cold as he tied him to the gate…at Tommy Ray’s.
As he trudged back to his line shack, he took inventory of his Christmas rounds.
Left his old spurs for young Zack, his Mexican riata…at Jennie Towns.
A rag doll from an old shirt stuffed with grass, he left for June at the Crossroads Ranch
She’s such a fiery lass…she will break more than one cowboys heart with a glance.
Charlie gave away all his belongings and other things he made
till every child in the valley had a present for Christmas day.
He made many winters riding line camps and such, living life as a drifting saddle tramp.
Since a family wasn’t in the cards, now he is making his final lonely camp.
Banking up the stove to warm his old frame, the chill finally driven from his bones,
he dozed in an old rocker, snoring in peaceful low tones.
He opened his eyes to a young rider standing inside the door.
CHARLIE! It’s time to go, he said. Charlie nodded and said, “I am ready for dern sure.”
A group of people gathered outside that old shack, grateful for the simple gifts he brought.
They found him cold…by his empty pack. Gone home to the final camp he sought.
For years they talked of that terrible drought when all the grass withered like blight.
How hard times had stolen their holiday cheer, and how one cowboy
named Charlie…saved Christmas…on that cold SILENT NIGHT.
