Some of them are pretty bad, I knowl
Upon barren hills in the ancient Ukraine,
My father�s grandfathers will ride once again.
Carried down from those slopes by short sturdy mounts,
Those valorous men knew that heart is what counts.
In those savage times, horsemen lived by no law;
You did what you could and forgot what you saw.
They fought , and they plundered and stole what they needed,
Those hardy proud men by brave ponies besteeded.
Those men never died without knives in their backs,
My ancestry comes from the dreaded Cossacks.
On the Isle of Erin, past the north Baltic Sea,
There once lived a man whom I�d call grandaddy.
Tater farmer by trade, but horse trainer by name,
A horse, at his touch, was never ever the same.
His dear horse Braveheart worked each day by his side,
And the poor man�s heart broke the day that horse died.
He toiled and worked to develop a breed
That would become a trustworthy mount and steed.
With fiery red hair, roaring tempers to boot,
My Irish heritage is anything but moot.
Now met in me are the spirit and passion
That once shaped a kingdom and all the latest fashion.
I�ve devoted my life and will live up with pride
To the bar set by people who live on inside
Of my heart and my soul and my horse-crazy mind.
Perhaps when I�m old and see the sight of hind,
I�ll teach to my children the joy of their past,
And maybe, just maybe, the feeling will last.
The kids of my kids will someday choose to say,
No mare in sight,
She�s outside the light.
A flashlight plays along the grass
It turns up nothing with each pass.
But don�t give up and be houseward bound,
That black mare is due; she must be found!
One beam bounces back
Off something wet and black.
The black mare is resting upon a hill;
Her herdmates are watching, protecting her still.
Steal up to the newborn; is he all right?
Make sure he is living this midsummer night.
Race back to the house,
Not quiet like a mouse.
Shouts of joy spring from ev�ry room,
And people fly out with flash and zoom.
Quick! Grab a towel, a pillow, a blanket;
Only rush to the field, so the poor foal will make it.
He�s there by his dam,
How excited I am,
For this colt shall be mine.
He is dark as dark wine,
But way too much to carry.
Go! Get the cart; we really can�t tarry.
He tries to jump out,
To his mom gives a shout,
As we lumber on down to the barn;
The birth of this colt makes for a yarn.
Black as the night, he has no name yet,
But maybe I�ll call him Skyhope�s Java Jett.
Jett stands by the fence as I walk up the path;
A gleam in his eye, he snorts with a laugh.
But a halter in absentia, no smile to return,
Sadness reigns in one who is never taciturn.
"It's only three weeks," but who believes that?
"It's only three weeks," but he smells a rat.
A whole lot can happen in twenty-one days;
The same sun can set in ten different ways.
Custer's last stand was over and done with,
And The War of the Worlds was simply a myth.
"It's only three weeks," but who believes that?
"It's only three weeks," but we all smell a rat.
Twenty-one hundred brush strokes will never be felt,
Eight thousand kind words won't ever be dealt.
Twenty-one joyous shouts when lessons are done
That winds cannot carry, they were uttered by none.
"It's only three weeks," but who believes that?
"It's only three weeks," but I smell a rat.
A whole lot can happen in twenty-one days;
The same sun can set in ten different ways.
"Remember the Alamo!" rang out from a fort,
And one more child's life was ruined in court.
"It's only three weeks," but who believes that?
"It's only three weeks," but we all smell a rat.
For twenty-one days I'll be counting each hour,
But for twenty-one days I'll try not to glower.
Five score and four hours will pass in this town,
And in five score and four hours I'll try not to frown.
The next thirty thousand seconds, I pray they go fast,
The next thirty thousand seconds, I hope I'll outlast.
"It's only three weeks." Sure, I believe that crock.
"It's only three weeks," consider "only" and a clock.
For "only three weeks," time will take its course,
But for the value of three weeks, go ask my horse.
Grab the boots by the door,
The helmet from its nail.
Pick the favorite from the field,
Hide the true intentions.
A snaking rope drags behind,
A carrot in the air.
He takes the bait,
There�s no turning back.
Brush the mud from stamping feet,
Comb the burrs from tangled hair.
Toss a blanket across his withers,
Throw a saddle over all.
Tickle the tongue to take the bit,
Pull the girth to tighten it.
Gallop away, the sunset awaits.
I had been a swimmer for a very long time,
And it gave me a feeling that was quite sublime.
Then one fall I made the decision
To trade in my goggles for bits, bridles, derision.
�A horse! A horse!
My kingdom for a horse!�1
A good summer job is the road to more money,
And everyone knows being broke isn�t funny,
But instead I spend days that are bright, warm and okay
Picking out stalls, cleaning tack, making hay.
�A horse! A horse!
My kingdom for a horse!�
A perfect and deep flawless golden brown tan
Is the one thing that�s wanted by all kinds of man.
Though I spend all my time looking after my horse,
I do what I can for a farmer�s tan, of course!
�A horse! A horse!
My kingdom for a horse!�
Danielle is up next; Erin Kischuk�s on deck.
I hope my horse runs like a bat out of heck.
16.40�s her time in this polebending race,
No one can beat her; just look at her face.
Now we are up, my horse and I;
We both want to race the wind in the sky.
The judge says the timer has reset his watch,
And this is one race I know we won�t botch.
We break the timer and race to the end,
Turning and twisting as each pole we bend.
The horse and the girl have now become one,
They run to the end to find their time has won.
Very few understand why I love this show,
And I take ev�ry chance that I have to go.
Druggies will get the same feeling from weed,
But my habit�s much safer; I have a need for speed!
Upon my high horse, I cannot be haughty,
Or my darling high horse will become naughty.
He always is charming, he�s always upbeat,
But beware Proud Rider, for you�ll lose your seat.
Upon my high horse, I see miles on miles,
For my lovely high horse is right for all styles.
He keeps all his riders, each and ev�ry last one,
Safe as a sunrise �til each ride is done.
Upon my high horse, I�m above the world�s cares;
My dearest high horse knows what love he shares.
A conscience more pure than white snowy egrets
He won�t tell even one of my best-kept secrets.
A raging herd of seven head
will stampede 'round their field.
Gentle trees will 'neath their tread
Tremble, shake, but never yield.
The grasshoppers, they ran for cover
When a horse went helter-skelter.
The cause of this they would discover,
Just as soon as they found shelter.
A shadow steals just by a rock;
It attracts the gaze of one lone bee.
That buzzer, she had quite a shock
When Little Mousy said, "Hee hee!"
The bee, as fast as she could fly,
Spotted a horse on a whirlwind course.
She caught a ride as he breezed by,
And whispered, whispered, "There's the source."
The galloping horses, they froze at that.
Feeling like a flighty bat, every one of them
Approached that rock like a stealthy cat,
For there sat a mouse, beside a stem.
The silly mouse, she stuck out her tongue,
And waving her paws behind round ears,
A single high note was by her sung;
The horses, they didn't stop running for years.
There once was a pony named Shaggy
Who was so small she�d fit in a baggy.
She stood by a ball
That was three inches tall,
And noticed her shoulder beside it.
Ever since I can recall,
Which isn�t really long at all,
I�ve been sitting upon a horse,
So I will never change my course.
Molly taught me everything,
Though it isn�t hardly anything
When considered with the vast amounts
That I have learned from all my mounts.
Bunny is a wily mare-
Big and brown as a teddy bear-
Who showed me talent�s lack of bounty
In the show against our county.
Ever since I can recall,
Which isn�t really long at all,
I�ve been sitting upon a horse,
So I will never change my course.