You can either have a spirit of a city slicker, a working farmer, a traveling pioneer, or a wandering cowboy. The hussle and busy city life will strangle most even with after a good golf shot. Sitting at home, watching the corn grow and playing the guitar is good for some. Sitting on top of four wheels hoping to find an adventure is for others. But riding the plains or blazing a trail through the mountains on a steady stead is a cowboys life. Through out time, the spirits persist. Each of us has more than one. In which case, there will be conflict until the dominent spirt wins.
Poem titled "Me Mudder"
In honor and tribute to all mothers. This was found on the bulletin board at my grandfathers store in Lotts Creek Iowa. Supposedly found in an old territorial prison in Yuma. -------------------------------- When my prayers were early said Who tucked me in my widdle bed And spanked my ass till it was red? Me Mudder Who lifted me from my cozy cot And set me on an ice cold pot and make me pee if I could or not? Me Mudder And when the morning light had come In my widdle crib I dribbled some who wiped my tiny little bum? Me Mudder Who did my hair so nearly part and pressed me gently to her heart and sometimes squeezed till I'd fart Me Mudder Who looked at me with eyebrows knit, and neatly had a king size fit, When in my Sunday clothes me shit Me Mudder When at night the bed did squeak, me raised me head to have a peek, who yelled at me to go to sleep Me Fadder !
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