A Cowboy Poet Shot In The Shin Poem by David Welch

The cowboy poet went out
for a breath of fresh air.
Then a shot rang out,
coming out of nowhere.
The bullet came straight,
flying towards him.
Now he's a sad poet
who's been shot in the shin.

He looked all around,
only saw the prairie.
Never found his foe
wherever he be.
Now for all his days
he will walk with a limp,
that sad, cowboy poet
who's been shot in the shin.

Oh sad, sad poet,
never hurt anything.
Oh sad, sad poet,
no one of this will sing.
Oh sad, sad poet,
it's the damndest of things,
to be a cowboy poet
who's been shot in the shin.

He hopped to the house
and settled down there.
Friends sent for the doc,
who in an hour appeared.
The doc showed up
and made his way in,
said, "Now who would ever
shoot a man in the shin? "

Took the bullet out
and he cleaned up the wound.
Then he tipped his hat
and said "good afternoon."
As the years went by,
the mystery settled in.
Who would want to hurt a poet,
who shot him in the shin?

Oh sad, sad poet,
never hurt anything.
O sad, sad poet
what weirdness life brings.
Oh sad, sad poet
there's no understanding
Why a cowboy poet
would be shot in the shin.