A Short Ride
He weren't nothin' but a broomtail.
Jist a sorry lookin', notch-eared nag.
He stood there leanin' ag'in' the fence
Like a dirty, wore out, old dish rag.
But the wrangler was desp'rate fer a mount
And there weren't none else around.
So he paid the stableman ten bucks--
The nag weren't worth two cents a pound.
When the wrangler cinched the saddle down
The horse gave out a groan
And breathed a weary, ragged sigh,
As the seasoned rider settled on.
Then spur raked lightly horse's flank,
And sparks began to fly.
Like a July, Roman candle,
The nag shot to’rd the sky.
The screamin' bomb turned end fer end,
Then halted on a dime.
He bounded north and he bounded south;
In both directions at one time.
Then once ag'in the rocket fired
And the pair was skyward bound.
Two critters one when they went up,
But not when they came down.
The nag lit lightly on his feet
As a feather, you might say.
The wrangler landed on his face
In a cloud of dust, ten feet away.
The broomtail watched the wrangler
Drag his bruised and achin' body by;
Then he limply leaned ag'in' the fence,
And twitched his ears and closed his eyes.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005
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