POETS PAGE

Hay Time Horses

"Putting up hay with horses was a rodeo all it's own!

Only a few people will remember."

Buddy Gale Cowboy Poet and Song Writer

They ran on the range ten months of the year

Only part broke, very hard to get near.

Cowboys never had time to start them out slow

It was hook to the mower and now you will go.

Where will you go, you never do know

The only thing certain is it won't be too slow.

If you think ridin broncs takes lots of skill

Try a seat on a mower flying over a hill

If you've never been there it's hard to explain

That these horses ran faster than a runaway train.

You sit there and pull hard with all of your might

And hope all the big rocks stay down outta sight.

The ride is a fast one, and you hope you can last,

Will they run outta wind as the world rushes past?

I'd hafta say hay time was like going to war

You usually were banged up and your seat was sore.

Flying the three miles from the barn to the range

Is only the begining of things that will change.

There's dropping the sickle when it's time to cut grass

Here's where the teamsters land flat on their, back.

They drag along, hardly touching the ground

Hoping to hold on 'til the horses slow down.

There's pieces of hay time that will never appear

Lost by runaway horses as they ran, wild with fear.

I think when you look up at the stars in the sky

And you a star falling as it flashes on by,

Then you look at it closer and your face starts to frown

It's just a old mower team trying hard to slow down.