The Cowgirl
Like her folks
She smokes
Rough shirts
On Jean skirts
Though a chiller
She looks a killer
Her mushroom-cat
Is half-eaten by a rat
No mosquito hurts her
In her presence I'm in stir
Why this sadness on her face?
Did she fail in any competition race?
Do not be worried, O, my strong little girl.
Don’t leaves and flowers in winter wind furl?
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