When I was 5, I had a whip-stitched cowboy’s wallet
I imagined every good-guy had the same kind too
The horse had eyes as wild as fire
With a raging spirit that only good-guys could subdue
Whatever happened to that wallet is a mystery
Every wallet after, was only brown, or black, or blue
None will ever measure-up to the wild one
However shiny, however full, however new
Bryan Atneosen © December 8th 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem