Off down the dusty trail I went,
A bucko of nine seldom content
On my way to grandpa's place,
He'd got a horse that could race.
The tale was for a wagon of corn
He got a horse only slightly worn,
A bangtail to old to race anymore,
That's what the city-slicker swore.
Grandpa bragged that he was smart
But the oath and truth was far apart,
That old plug wasn't done racing yet,
A detail grandaddy won't soon forget.
I wondered how fast a racehorse goes
Watching puffs of dust cover my toes
When down the dim trail ahead of me
I heard the screaming of a banshee.
The sound of pounding hooves ahead
Filled this ragamuffin kid with dread
Surely I was about to meet my maker
By way of the local undertaker.
The ruckus appeared around the bend,
It was a horse running like the wind
And in the mighty cloud of dust I saw
The screaming banshee was grandpa.
I was about to be plowed under I know
Though gramps was screaming whoa!
That wild-eyed steed paid him no heed
And I was about to be run over indeed.
The horse spun left and gramps went right
And beneath him was a lot of daylight,
He landed spread-eagle in the muddy creek
Mad as a hornet and cussing a blue streak.
I ran home to protect my delicate ears
And left grandad yelling, near in tears,
Seems there is one thing he didn't know,
That horse has never understood whoa!
Never ask what happened to his horse
Or your day may be filled with remorse,
Gramps surely will tell you where to go
About that horse that don't know whoa.
The tale is spun that a greenhorn came
And for ten dollars proudly laid claim,
Gramps gladly paid him to haul it away,
It's an episode not spoken of yet today.
©Written by: Kenneth J. Ellison 11-06-09
Song title: "Daddy's Home"
Return Poetry By Ken
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