I got the idea for this poem as I was reading Cowboys and the "Wild West" by Don Cusic. For some reason I have been fascinated by tumbleweeds, and have always liked the song "Tumbling Tumbleweeds". So this page caught my attention. This song which is one of the most popular western songs of all time was written by a golf caddy in Los Angeles during a rainy day in November 1932. His name is Bob Nolan. He had previously sang wth Roy Rogers and Tim Spencer. They later reunited as the Son's of the Pioneers and performed this song. This song proved so popular that a movie starring Gene Autry was named after it. This could be one of the reasons why tumbleweeds appear to Easterners as a romantic symbol of the West. Picture this: The wind is slightly blowing Gusts of dust are starting to swirl It's the dawning of a warm, calm dusk And large tumbleweeds are starting to twirl. These dry herbal plants Whose stems snap at the ground Calling out to be free As they roll around and around Can you picture it now folks? It's the perfect image of life out West Of the free, roamin, cowboy Livin' life to the best. But sometimes I git to wonderin' Where these tumblers git to spend Their life when the wind Stops blowing at trails end. Now these poor herbaceous plants How does their fate stand? Where is their final resting place After roaming their native land? But the path they leave behind Day after day Makes it easier for the next Who struggle on their way Just as it is for folks like us In our time and day To hear stories of our ancestors Who helped pave the way Can help us stay on our path And sometimes feel them near When we know where we come from And how we got to be here. So let those weeds tumble And all our stories keep sharing So that future generations Will never stop caring About how the West was won And how the cowboy got it there Fighting through the storms Because he really did care About his kids' kids And what the trail would be like for them Making sure they know their stock and brand Before their roots break off from the stem For when we know who we are Our boots are firm in the ground And to our western heritage We are forever bound So let those weeds tumble And all our stories keep sharing So that furture generations will never stop caring.