Best Back In The Saddle Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Back In The Saddle poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of back in the saddle poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Back In The Saddle poems, articles about Back In The Saddle poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Back In The Saddle poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New Back In The Saddle Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Back In The Saddle poems are below this new poems list.

Back In The Saddle by Ellison, Jack
Back In The Saddle Again by Richards, Carrie
Sully was back in the saddle by CHAKRABARTY, RAJAT KANTI
Back in the Saddle Samurai part 2 response to Richard Pickett collab by Dufresne, Robert A.
Samauri, Back in the Saddle by Pickett, Richard
Back in the Saddle by Delacroix, Caroline Cécile
Back In the Saddle by bell, tom

View all new Back In The Saddle Poems

The Best Back In The Saddle Poems

Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bury Me In My Jeans

"I've rode the range now fer nigh on sixty years,
Brandin' dogies and ropin' them wily Hereford steers.
When I come to the end of the trail, I don't want no big scenes.
Boys, jes' wrap me in my hoss's blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

"I don't want you fellers carryin' on and bellerin' when I'm gone.
Jes' say a few kind words, git back in the saddle and carry on!
Think of me now and then when you're chewin' yer bacon and beans.
'Jes promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

"Promise me you'll take good care of my faithful hoss, Old Dan,
And let him tag along on roundups on the range when you can.
I love cowboyin', but boys you know I ain't a man of means.
Jes' wrap this poor old soul in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

"Buck, you kin have my scruffy boots and old sweat-stained hat.
Rusty, you take my saddle - Red, you kin have my 44-caliber gat.
Them's my worldly goods 'cept fer these jeans that's worn to smithereens,
But promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in them jeans!"

"I'd like to be planted on that knoll yonder 'neath that ponderosa pine.
If you kin scare up a preacher to send me on my way, that'll do jes' fine.
I've been a cowpoke since I was fourteen - I reckon it's in my genes.
Boys, promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved




Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Real Cowboys Don't Sing Honky-Tonk Songs

When cowboys sprawl 'round the camp fire after the days work is done,
They strum guitars and tootle harmonicas and sing to have fun.
Real cowboys don't sing Honky-Tonk or She Done Me Wrong stuff.
They leave that to rhinestone cowboys, considerin' it to be so much fluff!

Real wranglers sing about ropin' dogies and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Roundups, brandin' time and the magnificence of God's grand expanses.
They sing of home on the range, rodeos and dinin' on bacon and beans,
Cattle stampedes on stormy nights, the old corral and dance hall queens.

They harmonize about ghost riders in the sky who've met their fates,
Tumblin' tumbleweeds, cool water, tin cups and eatin' from tin plates.
They sing about bein' back in the saddle again and the streets of Laredo,
And belt out songs about horses named Old Paint, Ol' Dan and Tornado.

They yodel the cattle call and sing about when the bloom's on the sages,
And croon about their yellow rose of Texas and their pitiful wages.
Real buckaroos sing about Christmas in the bunk house and rye whiskey,
Cattle drives on the Lone Star and Abilene trails and a life so very risky.

They sing of the grumpy foreman and when the works all done this fall,
And tweedle about ragtime cowboy Joe and many a barroom brawl.
Real cowboys sing about ridin' the range, the chaparral and dusty trail,
And leave Hank Snow to warble about lost love, honky-tonks and landin' in jail!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2014


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Cowboy

He crawled from his bunk stiflin' a hearty yawn.
His work began each day at the very crack of dawn.
He donned his jeans, chaps and old slouch hat,
Pulled on his cowboy boots and strapped on his gat!

He downed a bowl of Cheerios which was his usual fare,
Then mounted Old Dan, his trusty hoss with habitual flair.
He coiled his lasso as he sat there leisurely astraddle.
'Twould be another hot and dusty day in his well-worn saddle!

His first chore was to patrol the miles of barbed wire fences,
Over the rolling plains of his spread's vast expanses.
There were dogies to herd to the corral, there to do battle,
Ropin' and brandin' dozens of cantankerous and wily cattle!

Pausin' at noon 'neath a ponderosa for much-needed relief,
The cook fed him beans, biscuits and roasted beef.
Then back in the saddle as Old Dan he gently spurred,
To continue roundin' up more of the frenzied herd!

It had been a tirin' day ridin' over rollin' hill and dale.
Now he and Old Dan headed home along the moonlit trail.
The five-year-old cowpoke awoke from his dream-filled nap.
Such a gruelin' trail it had been for that hardy little chap!

(c) All Rights Reserved (17 April 2014)


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2014


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Back In The Saddle Again

Zealously, she circles want-ads
Years have dashed her expectations. 
Xeroxing her application
Wishing for some vindication
Voices on the telephone, asking for the skills she's honed
Under rated, and creative
Taunt her with big promises?
Salaries that compromise?
Retirement? No benefits
Questionnaires she must complete.  Younger gals she must compete
Propositioned by the boss?
Other jobs that she has lost?
No one wants you over 40
Masquerade, they'll think your 30
Last employed?......You stayed at home, raising kids, so he could go
Kitchen duties, shoveled loam, bathed those kids, the floors, the dog
Juggled schedules, drove a taxi, made the soup, and fed the troops
If you think that it was easy, just a week would drive them crazy
Has the skills, ......she'll dust them off
Give her a chance.....she'll do a dance!
Faithful, friendly, watch her scurry
Experienced, and quite trustworthy
Dedicated, she'll endeavor
Can't you see, she's a survivor? Let her stand a little taller
Better hire........she's a winner
"A"  for effort......Won't regret it.....you can bet your bottom dollar !!



____________________________________________________________
10/11/15  For Z_Y_X Contest: Sponsored by John Lawless


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Rodeo Queens

I should have seen it coming 
By the sad look on her face
Instead she had to say the 
words
Right now I need some space

Standing by the open door
In her mind she's already gone
One foot tapping on the floor
To the beat of another's song. 

It wasn't my first rodeo 
And it ain't gonna be my last
I always get back in the saddle
but lately not as fast

Thank God there's a lot more 
rodeo queens
Than riders at each show
Less broken bones than 
shattered dreams
For those who love the rodeo. 

But my daddy always told me
Steer clear of the rodeo queens
Cos they ain't nuthin but 
trouble son 
Dressed up in tight blue jeans. 


Copyright © Joe Murphy | Year Posted 2014


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Back in the Saddle Samurai part 2 response to Richard Pickett collab

After hearing from Brick over the phone saying he needed a lift, Bill cradled the phone, adjusted his shoulder holster, slipped on his jacket and carefully donned his beloved Stetson. He skipped down the stairs to the mini parking lot where he recently paid to park his car just for the convenience of it all. Should a done this a long time ago, he thought as he coaxed his car into gear and popped the clutch to angle it onto the busy street.
    Once he got into the traffic he ground the gears as well as that old three speed on the column would allow and headed for St Cecelia’s. He probably would have got there quicker on his police horse but they frowned on him parking his old horse buddy in the parking lot.
   It wasn’t the first time Brick decided to take a sabbatical in St Cecelia‘s. Hmm ..He musta been hell on his Mom’s nerves when he was a kid, Bill mused. 
     He pulled a u turn couldn't help but smile when he saw Brick was already standing there waiting for him while removing a sling from his arm that he probably was supposed to leave on for a few days.
     Bill braked along side the cigarette butt strewn curb reached across, opened the door and Brick clambered in a little more gently than he wanted to. “Need some help old man?” Bill quipped. 
    “No I just happen to like taking my time so I can savor every moment when I climb into a piece of junk.”
     “Now that ain’t no way to talk about ole Nellie here, Bill chuckled. Say how ya feeling Brick? “I feel great.” “Oh? You might feel great but you look like crap. You’d best pull an overhaul on your carcass real soon or that’ll be the shortest date you’ll ever be on.”
Brick rolled his eyes at his partner “Don’t you worry none cowboy, I clean up pretty good when I wanna. You just try and do your best to see that this hunk of junk makes it to my place cause if I was a gambling man ,I wouldn’t put any money on it.” They both laughed and Bill drove Brick to his home. 
 “Okay, well call me tomorrow and we’ll talk business about a certain Samurai
if your up to it by then Brick.” Brick groaned his way out of the car turned and said  “Oh don’t you worry ’bout that. I’ll be up to it all right .” 
Actually, I ain't really worried about you, Brick. I’m a little worried about the Samurai.”
“Huh? How’s that Bill?” 
“You know .. your ribs, Brick … they gave his foot a pretty good walloping!”
Brick slammed the car door shut, shook his head and chuckled as he limped away.
  See Richard Pickett



Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2011


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sully was back in the saddle

Sully* was back in the saddle 
up the creek without a paddle 
Meenie stole his hat
followed a stout rat
With cookies his hands did meddle








Sully* is Sullivan my pet simian ghost
Meenie is my cat
Both are naughty


Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2015


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Samauri, Back in the Saddle

Brick had seen his share of hospitals 
and had been to Saint Cecelia's more than once,
on occasion, a perp would get banged up
you know, during an arrest... on occasion!

He was just waiting for the X-Ray results
before he made his way home, but he had
to make a couple of calls after he got kicked loose.
First he had to make a call to Bill Lipton,
one of the suits from the 31st had seen him at the hospital

Now it seems that Bill's Lieutenant was leanin on Bill,
guess his Captain was runnin for some office and was
afraid to have one of his boy's involved in the
Shadow vigilante case, in case it didn't get solved
and tarnish his record, Like I would ever let a case go cold! 

The second call, was gunna be to a pretty Blond 
by the name of Erika La Plant, an EMT who gave him 
her number in the bus on the way to Saint Cecelia's 
But first.....Brick! the Doctor said as he entered the ER room
look's like you have a couple of bruised ribs there.

Just keep them wrapped up for a couple of weeks
or so, and you'll be fine, if you take it easy that is,
But I spoke with a Sgt. Lipton when they brought you in 
and he said you were kind of stubborn and rough on yourself
so it might take a little longer, try not to get into any more fights!

Ok Doc! You got it! Can I go now? Yes Brick you can go!
here are your discharge orders, and a prescription for something
for the pain, I suggest you get it filled, you'll need it!
within a wink of an eye Brick found a phone and called 
the Cowboy, the phone only rang once, Hello Bill Lipton here!

Hey Cowboy, I hoped I'd catch you, think you could come
get me, and give me a lift home, so I can get my car?
I may have a date later! Who would that be with Brick?
oh let me guess! the blondie from the bus , right?
Her name is Erika Billy Boy, and yep, that's the one!

Oh hey! what's this I hear your Boss is up your
keester about our Black clad ole buddy? 
You ain't thinkin about pullin a runner on me are ya?
Now just hold on to your suspenders pardner! I ain't 
a goin no where's we got us a score to settle with our
ole pal. I'm on my way...Click..the phone went dead.........

  We're back in the Samauri Saddle, Watch for Robert Dufresne's reply..


Copyright © Richard Pickett | Year Posted 2011


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

1 point 2 million dollars

$1.2 million

the british empire couldn’t do it
the soviet union couldn’t do it &
now the great big policeman of the world
is ready to finally
retreat with their tail wagging between their legs
all the way home
with the tax payers bleeding
from inside the domestic walls
paying over a million dollars a year
for each soldier in Afghanistan.

imagine if that 1.2 million spent on one US soldier
could be used to propel one homeless individual
or one single mother
or one recovering addict in this country
out of their dire straits---
imagine how it could have changed their lives for the
better---
imagine how our dying public education system
could have profited
from just 1.2 million,
not to mention the lot of all those soldiers
who have been fighting a “war”
that they know can’t be won.

as mr. hope & change is no doubt lying &
his puppet, mr. panetta is speaking about the magic number
2013, as an election stepping stone for his commander in chief,
the fact remains that “enduring presence” is going to stretch well into
2014 & possibly longer,
given that once mr. hope & change is back in the saddle, 
all bets are off (as if they were ever on).

1,735 american soldiers dead so far…
that’s 1,735 families who have sacrificed their kids 
for the war machine &
1,735 american soldiers, means 2 billion dollars that could have been spent
on keeping americans at home alive,
rather than casting them out of their homes,
stealing away their jobs &
giving their children a shitty education.



Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Back in the Saddle

When I was a child
I liked to go on horse rides
It felt grant to sit
On top of this beast so gigantic
And learn to have it follow
Commands, finding control.

There upon Marquis, the horse
That I dearly loved
I could find a bond.
Of each other we were so fond
An invisible give and take
With nature, there was no mistake.

One afternoon I rode
With my uncle upon a road
Freshly asphalted, lacking still a border
Riding too close to it, Marquis faltered
Losing momentarily his balance
Which made me loose my balance.

Instinctively I hung on
To Marquis's neck and didn't fall down
Though my body dropped on his right side.
With my arms still around his neck tight
I pulled myself back in the saddle safe and sound
As I knew I would be on his mount.

Remembering this episode today
Renews my determination to keep faith
While going through great struggles
Hanging on to life, seeing the gifts in its bundle
That help me pull myself back in the saddle
And climb the steps to reach grounds more stable.


By CarolineCécile
Copyright  © 08.15.10


Copyright © Caroline Cécile Delacroix | Year Posted 2010


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Dale Evans Is Riding Tonight

The young girl’s pony is made from the stick of a broom,
With posters of rodeos thumb-tacked all over her room.
She heads off to school with her lunch in a metal lunch pail—
With a picture of a cowgirl and the words “HAPPY TRAILS!”

Dale Evans is riding tonight, on the bright silver screen
In the midst of a young girl’s dream;
Dale Evans is riding tonight—
She’s the Queen of the West, with her red leather vest…
Dale Evans is riding tonight.

The little girl grows up but she clings to her childhood games,
She looks for Roy Rogers but she always attracts Jesse James.
She takes a couple of falls in the rodeo called “married life”—
Now she’s back in the saddle—“Adios” to those years as a wife.

Dale Evans is riding tonight, on the bright silver screen
In the midst of a young woman’s dream;
Dale Evans is riding to night—
She’s the Queen of the West, she’s got fringe on her dress…
Dale Evans is riding tonight.

She’s home on the range with her friend the acoustic guitar;
It’s state fairs and rodeos and too many years in the bars;
Tonight on the stage in Cheyenne she’s raising her hand—
The crowd, gives a roar—she’s married some guy in her band!

Dale Evans is riding tonight, on the bright silver screen
In the midst of a cowgirl’s dream;
Dale Evans is riding tonight—
She’s the Queen of the West, in her cattle-brand vest…
Dale Evans is riding tonight.


Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2007


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Goodnight, Year of Change

Snow whispered unto me
"Nothing remains static"
Yet I remained completely still
While I shoveled the snow away

Second month frozen gave way to warmth
From passion, from anger
From a wealth of confusing events
And spending it all in a volcano

Burnt out in the cold
I shelved my axe once again
Stuck down in a rut
I let the melting snow sail me home

The new leaves bravely sprung to life
As I let the breeze take me wherever
All bent to my will
As the ending of something great came upon me

I waved my savior goodbye
Setting out back to home
Returning to the promised land so shortly after
To while away my time in peace

I waved my lover goodbye
As she flew far out over the sea
And as my body fell apart
I demanded ever more from it

Everything fell apart
Bedridden and heartbroken, I cried alone
Oh, how I wish I could have cried
Oh, how I wish I could have died

Back on my feet again, huh?
I spent the month as I spent the last
But with hope instead of despair
With a spirit formed from thin air

Back in the saddle again, huh?
In my absence, I became a legend
With a lack of self, I fell to despair
I couldn't bear to fall again

From the grim jaws of death, I found hope again
I watched the winds of gray paint my world red
And yellow and brown
As the leaves began to fall again

Freezing once again, I went back home
In the car of someone I didn't know
In the happy memories of someone I'll never know
Or ever choose to see again

A despairing year's hopeful ending
As everything I see before me crumbles and rusts
But I see the color between the gray
Even if no one wants to see it that way


Copyright © Derek Chos | Year Posted 2014


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Nostalgic Dreams

I had dreams of yesterday
I woke up with a smile
My dreams took me back 
And it was better for a while.

Jeff was calling Lassie
We had moonbeams in a jar
Perry Como was teaching us
To catch a falling star

Bishop Sheen was preaching
Lawrence Welk was leading the band
And we all remembered the Alamo
When Davy Crockett made his stand.

Clark Kent changed in a phone booth 
And brought the bad guys to their knees
Sugarfoot walked up to the bar
And asked for a sarsparilla please

Elliott Ness was in Old Chicago
Taking on Capone and Nitti
While Paul Burke was a detective
Inside the Naked City

Gene was singing Back in the Saddle
With Gabby by his side
And Cisco said "Oh Pancho"
"Oh Cisco" Pancho then replied

Arthur Godfrey had his talent scouts
And the Texaco man wore a star
Martin Kane was a private detective
Perry Mason passed the bar.

Maverick and Cheyenne were cowboys
Peter Gunn was making noise
We learned a little bit about life
Just watching the Real McCoys.

Car 54, where are you
Do you have a secret like Garry Moore
Let's sing along with Mitch
Is that Ben Casey at the door?

Who could forget old Lonesome George
And Red Skelton playing a clown
You bet your life, I loved Name that Tune
And Ed was Toast of the Town.

I could go on for days and days
About the times we had back then
When life was so much simpler
In my dreams I remember when.


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Slow Sad Song

My horse is old and gray
Seen many a better day
Swayed in the back
Steady and on track

I too old and gray
On my back life I weigh
Now I slump
Still prodding along
Singing a sad, sad song
Wondering did I ever belong

Did I leave a mark
Was my short ride worth much
Should I hide
Slowly, lowly as I ride
Concealing my face
In disgrace

At times I feel I did my best
At times I took on a sorry rest

Why am I still here
I feel alone
Cold and sad
Completely mad

Clip-pity-clop
Will my time ever stop

Clip-pity-clop
I now ride my course
With very little love
With very little force

Were to I wonder
As I ride
Me and horse can no longer glide
So out here alone we hide

Riding along this old trail
Pondering did all fail

I hope not
But I am not to judge

I used all I had
And now I am sad

Clip-pity-clop
Will I now close
Can I now stop

Down the dusty trail
No longer wagging tail
Did I win
Did I fail
I do not know
But the clipping will cease

Leaning back in the saddle
Fate I now straddle
Hat I pull back
For the last time

Pity-clop




Copyright © WAYNE SHOCK | Year Posted 2007


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Review

I'm looking into a mirror at the age in my eyes
      And the lines on a battle scarred face 
Wondering where it all went
          Children have grown and time has taken its toll
But the dreams never die and I feel a joy in knowing
      That while death is a worthy adversary and will win in the end
                                Some have never lived
It doesn't seem so distant that a cowboy walked down the street
          Plastic handles on the pistols
                     A back in the saddle again mindset
And dreams of heroic maiden saving feats
      Dominated the thoughts of a little boy
While the ocean called his name and new passions arose
              Oh the maidens! A pirate at times
But laughter and good times were ongoing
            Never really facing the inevitable fate of one's own mortality
And life was to be led for the moment
                            A walk down the streets of Cobh
A smile from a young woman in Stavanger
           Bracing for cold in the air in Vaernes
        But sweltering in the warmth of the Norwegian people
                                 GOD Would I do it again
   From Christmas in Barcelona to a late spring adventure
               In the back room of a bar on the French Riviera
You can take all that I acquired but leave my memories
     Of that Sunday in Edinburgh and the castle in Patras
                    The arms of a dark haired beauty in Athens
And the grace of her charms in Genoa
         In review I felt the joys and sorrows
           Triumphs and defeats
                          Happiness and anguish  but without regret
Should we choose anew I would return
                       Until the time approached again
                                         For review.


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Cowboy

He crawled from his bunk stifling a hearty yawn.
His work began each day at the very crack of dawn.
He donned his jeans, chaps and old slouch hat,
Pulled on his cowboy boots and strapped on his gat!

He downed a bowl of Cheerios which was his usual fare,
Then mounted old Dan, his trusty cayuse, with habitual flair!
He coiled his riata as he sat there leisurely astradddle.
'Twould be another hot, dusty day in his well-worn saddle.

His first task was to patrol the miles of barbed wire fences,
Over the rolling plain of his spread's wide expanses.
Then there were the dogies to herd to the waiting corral,
There to be branded in that familiar, chaotic locale!

Pausing at noon 'neath a shade for much-needed relief,
The cook fed him biscuits, beans and some roasted beef.
Then back in the saddle as old Dan he gently spurred,
To continue rounding up his frenzied, wide-spread herd!

It had been a tiring day riding over hill and vale.
Now he and old Dan headed home along the moonlit trail.
The five-year old cowpoke awoke from his dream-filled nap.
Such a grueling trail it had been for that hardy little chap!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Riders On The Storm



at the saloon he blew his top that day a brave soul caught beneath the undertow
we filed into the road on horse back with our gun in the back
heads were swearing up in down as he frowned didn't want to be around
got spurs on my shoes with sweat on my hat the brow permeates an odor
whiskey woman have take me by the hand it was the time we took our stand
so we made our way out on a barrenn path together as riders on the storm
it was coming quick but we kept treading along singing our song
we were back in the saddle again with very close knit friends
a snake suddenly crossed our path was headed side ways
on our way to inter pass number nine with our steel wheel reserve
the storm kept on brewing but we knew what we were doing
folks in these sticks live as hide away hicks getting lost in its fix
a slip of the hand let me help you understand we were a wolf pack head together


was it a mirage we looked ever closer as our horses investigated the odor
we were headed south and the interpass was near a friend took a piss in some clearing
there in the distance stood the sign of inter pass nine we were finally there
one toke over the line sweet Jesus we made it home fine
we were the riders on the storm like a dog without its bone
now was a time of celebration for we made it to our destination
we needed to take a break on a long awaited vacation
just then an evil man pulled out his gun shot some of our men dead
what was going on inside his head had a face full of lead
yet we got revenge and shot him down 
never again will I be so king to a stranger in exchange shot us blind


Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2017


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Back In the Saddle

Dancin' with the dead,
Becomin' familiar to me...
Missin' my soup pals,
That you can see,

10 days in the ward
Warding off death,
10 days never knowing,
Which might be my last breath,

There is no fear,
Regardless of fate,
It's merely a question,
Sooner or late...

You will join me too...
Somewhere down the road...
We'll write funny poems together,
Hope I don't have to goad...

But now to catch up with my pals,
Sorry for any worry I might have caused,
Glad to be back on line,
With the winners of the world.


Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007


Details | Back In The Saddle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Back In The Saddle



Back in the saddle, a familiar old tune Ain't as agile as when I was a young buffoon Drove girls squirrelly With lingo so syrupy Talk of the town even made old grannies swoon


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2018