I sometimes look back

To the day of my birth

And the ninety-plus years

That I’ve been on this earth

It never was easy

To follow a plow

Or pick the white cotton

Or milk the red cow

Or clean out the stables

And spread the manure

While Breathing the fumes

Of air that’s not pure

I can’t be Josh Turner

And sing those low notes

I can’t be Obama

And get all those votes

I can’t be like Tiger

And win all that money,

I can’t be Jay Leno

And always be funny

It wouldn’t be easy

To do what they did

When raised on a farm

As a hillbilly kid

I didn’t like farm work

Or digging out coal

So I chose a career

In the Border Patrol

And I’ve had my moments

My days in the sun

When flying the airplanes

And shooting a gun

I have my retirement

And no money fears

A loving companion

For my final years

A Genie might ask me

Who I’d like to be

"Don’t change me," I’d answer.

"I’d rather be me."


Author of My Border Patrol Days (Patrol Cars, Planes, and Pistols)

"Tribute to a Fallen Agent "

by Doug Mosier, El Paso Sector

A sound of bagpipes

rises from the open plain

the melody is


like the muffled cries of a


we are drawn to this

holy ground

to honor one of our own,

cradling them one last time

before conceding their journey

into forever

full-gun volley,

he is now immortalized,

sweat and blood

stitched in every flag’s fold

in that instant, his legacy

takes flight to the

next generation

huddling by his side

just as his father…

and his father before him.

on the border,

he still rides the plains

on horseback

or battered four-wheel drive

with that wry grin, and

the seasoned edge of a

desert cowboy

in the end, his patience

is what prevailed

over formidable adversaries

who learned to listen to the

Rio Grande

through canyons to the sea

we will remember the quiet warrior

still clad in green,

spit shined and

salty as earth

lifeblood of the border

for 85 years,

your tales have spun

like so many MGM classics;

winded palaminos and

chance encounters with

liquor runners

and drug whores

now your pistol and chaps

lie in wait

remembering your vigilance

like the day that man killed John

in Dallas.

too many heroes for a single wake

none more fallen than the next,

and still we look for your spirit

in desert arroyos,

soggy wetlands

or in the soft glow of

twisting northern lights.

It is their way

never lost, and

never, ever forgotten.


The morning sun

Ignites the hills

And pushes night

Across the rills.

It fills the Gullies

With Rivers gold

And glazes mountains

Sheer and cold.

It calls the birds

To daybreak’s song

Or ends the Northland’s

Night, so long.

It takes Night’s forest

Off to sleep

And brings forth Day’s

From slumber deep.

And raises once more

Duty’s Call

For Men, Green-clad

To give their all.

And if, one morn’

They gather there

Their faces worn and

Lined with care,

And I’m not there

To answer Roll,

I’m 10-8;

On my Last Patrol.

©Warren Blair 9/26/04


As I walk through this desolation alone

I stay alert and maintain my senses hone

My backup I know is miles away

Yet from this resolute path I will not stray

Searing heat, freezing rain or numbing cold

Do not impede my progress as I trek the forsaken road

My oath is to protect and serve

And I’ll be damned if I break my word

I reflect on the public’s scrutiny and their chastise

As I toil in the midst of threat, and darkness of night

Unbeknown to them is that I do not judge

I am unbiased, and from this credence I will not budge

For I do not decree a sentence upon anyone

I am only an Agent in pursuit of an entity on the run

I am aware that it takes just one for our boundaries to breach

In order to violate America’s children and her keep

It was not long ago that America beckoned foreigners with her luminous torch

Welcoming distant nations and their people to her gracious shores

Times are different now, and have become a threat

So I preserve my allegiance and labor with no regret

For when I lay that felon and his disgrace upon America’s feet

And bear witness to her defiance as she maintains a poise of no defeat

That I can attest to her anguish because I am there

To arrest the wolf in sheep’s clothing

While the oblivious sleep, and my beloved mother, wife, and children kneel in prayer

Author, SPA Lee Cabrera