THAR she goes a-lopin', stranger, Khaki-gowned, with flyin' hair, Talk about your classy ridin',— Wal, you're gettin' it right thar. Jest a kid, but lemme tell you When she warms a saddle seat On that outlaw bronc a-straddle She is one that can't be beat! Every buckaroo that sees her Tearin' cross the range astride Has some mighty jealous feelin's Wishin' he knowed how to ride. Why, she'll take a deep barranca Six-foot wide and never peep; That 'ere cayuse she's a-forkin' Sure 's somethin' on the leap. Ride? Why, she can cut a critter From the herd as neat as pie, Read a brand out on the ranges Just as well as you or I. Ain't much yet with the riata, But you give her a few years And no puncher with the outfit Will beat her a-ropin' steers. Proud o' her? Say, lemme tell you, She's the queen of all the range; Got a grip upon our heart-strings Mighty strong, but that ain't strange; 'Cause she loves the lowin' cattle, Loves the hills and open air, Dusty trails on blossomed canons God has strung around out here. Hoof-beats poundin' down the mesa, Chicken-time in lively tune, Jest below the trail to Keeber's,— Wait, you'll see her pretty soon. You kin bet I know that ridin',— Now she's toppin' yonder swell. Thar she is; that's her a-smilin' At the bars of the corral. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SORROW OF LOVE (2) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH NEW YEAR'S EVE by GEORGE ARNOLD DEDICATION TO POEMS, LYRICS AND SONNETS by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE SLAVE'S LAMENT by ROBERT BURNS THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |