I'VE busted bronchos off and on Since first I struck their trail, And you bet I savvy bronchos From nostrils down to tail; But I struck one on Powder River, And say, hands, he was the first And only living broncho That your servant couldn't burst. He was a no-count buckskin, Wasn't worth two-bits to keep, Had a black stripe down his backbone, And was woolly like a sheep. That hoss wasn't built to tread the earth; He took natural to the air; And every time he went aloft He tried to leave me there. He went so high above the earth Lights from Jerusalem shone. Right thar we parted company And he came down alone. I hit terra firma, The buckskin's heels struck free, And brought a bunch of stars along To dance in front of me. I'm not a-riding airships Nor an electric flying beast; Ain't got no rich relation A-waitin' me back East; So I'll sell my chaps and saddle, My spurs can lay and rust; For there's now and then a digger That a buster cannot bust. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRAMERCY PARK by SARA TEASDALE THE LEAK IN THE DIKE; A STORY OF HOLLAND by PHOEBE CARY COUNT THAT DAY LOST by MARY ANN EVANS THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE SOME EYES CONDEMN by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS PLAYING IT SAFE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS TIPPERARY: 2. AS THE TRANSLATORS WOULD HAVE INTERLINED IT . . . by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |