WOMB TO TOMB
(c)1995 By Louis A. Carle
Almost nine months before my birth
I took my first real buggy ride;
All snug and comfy from the first
In my mama's warm inside.

Then on another trip to town
Above a buckboard seat,
I heard the steady sound
Of mama's heart and trotting feet.

Long before I ever wiggled loose
And saw the light of day -
I'd been over miles of frozen snow
In a one horse open sleigh.

Before I'd breathed a month of air
They'd put me on a horse-
And while my daddy held me there,
Had my picture took - of course.

By three or four I rode alone
On a gentle Belgian nag.
While my brother rode all clean at point
I ate dust on drag.

By the time I'm five I'm feeding pigs
And milking Jersey cows.
I'm being taught to think real big
And never say "I can't or won't -
or, Mom, I don't know how."

They hitched a gentle "breaking mare"
With a colt that's still real "cold" -
Then told me "drive" and didn't care
That I'm only six years old.

By eight I'm walking barefoot
In fresh earth behind a plow.
At the forge, I pump the bellows
Heating iron and learning how

To read the "color of the heat"
And to love the anvil "bell."
By ten I'm making horse shoes
And nail them on all by myself.

About then I started - bareback -
Breaking half wild yearling colts,
And since, I've handled thousands
And I've had my share of jolts.

I worked on farms with livestock
'Till the start of world war two;
Then I joined the Army Air Corps
'Cause I loved my country true.

I did my stint with Uncle Sam
Then when the fight was o'er
I got back to working horses -
Though it took ten years or more.

Since then I've seen a lot of trail
And a lot of cow behinds;
Pushed dudes up rocky canyons
And camped in the scented pines

I rode "ten thousand" horses-
Some I broke and some I trained.
I taught a "jillion" kids to ride
On every kind of saddle
and with every kind of rein.

Worked with horses more than cattle'
Though I guess I've done my share.
Fought a hard financial battle,
Just to keep my hand in there.

I've asked to have my ashes scattered
On a trail where horses move-
Where they can walk across my face
And stomp me with their hooves.

Just as in months before my birth,
I'll hear their trotting feet
And finish up my stay on earth
On some rocky cowboy street.

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