We are all so young,,, even the ‘old hands’
Imagining a time with no bull rope is hard to plan
It’s riding with a heart and unflagging spirit revealed
That’s a most fitting description of what’s usually concealed
The dream most have had since they were born
About riding horses, bulls, and such without scorn
It’s about the ride, that 8 seconds of time
That lead you and the bull to a place uniquely sublime
Riding bulls or whatever, it really don’t matter
As long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts aren’t scattered
Whether it’s the big show or not, you really don’t mind
You’d ride a milk cow if she’d fly out the gate, so inclined.
So even if you ride for the money, or the fame
No matter what you draw, you look for no blame
Because even though bones, and tendons are often broken
And if you’re deemed old because your thirty something year is now unspoken
It’s really the heart that prevails when the body can’t follow
And provides that last 8 seconds, that make you feel less hollow
And,,, when someday your heart and mind don’t yearn for the ride,
It’s time to reflect and possibly stand off to the side.
Life doesn’t end for there’s still plenty to do
There is always a new bull rider that wants to be you
They may need a hand, and inspiration or two
And a true bull rider’s heart is to return the gift given you.