We have our quarrels, we have our fights,
when you race the barrels, you're a darn pretty sight,
your horse is a running right out of the chute,
dressed for rodeo, you're so friggin cute,
around all the barrels your pony does run,
people are cheering, and having some fun,
the wind in your eyes you're as blind as a bat,
dressed for rodeo, right down to your hat,
when your back in the gate, the stopwatch does click,
your horse shakes her head and gives it a flick,
the rest of the riders, try to beat your time,
but you're still leading and looking so fine,
the rodeos over, it was so much fun,
results all are tallied and they show you have won.
written by Harry Bryant
nov 23 2001 1: 17: 06 ©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem