In winter nineteen-thirty-two
On humble Makwa plains
Born to Julia and Walter
Art Warner was his name.
He dug for gold when he was eight,
Went trapping after school,
He learned to fly, and ride, and boat,
And live by his own rules.
He pioneered a company,
He hunted, fished, and snared.
He worked, he farmed, and once – no lie –
He fought a grizzly bear.
To four he was a loyal Dad
And husband to their mother,
To eight he was a caring Umpa,
To others, son and brother.
Now this cowboy reunites
With Doc, his trusty steed.
He rounds up cattle, gallops on,
And lives that cowboy creed.
Although he’s passed beyond this life,
His spirit still lives strong
Within our memories and hearts
For that’s where it belongs.
His love and life are worth the tears
We shed for this great man,
So if we had to live once more
We’d do it all again.
So on the shining BC coast
This great man he became.
Admired, adored, and full of life,
Art Warner was his name.
