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IT'S A WILD RIDE

He combs his hair and snaps his shirt;
The yoke will soon be caked in dirt.
He dons his Stetson, bushy-browed,
And saunters out to meet the crowd.

His Wranglers crease to fit his form;
His bronco kicks up quite a storm.
Pitched left and right, he holds the band
And raises high his other hand.

"Dear Father, just eight seconds more,"
He whispers, amid tug-of-war.
"Preserve me now from sudden death,"
He mutters, underneath his breath.

The bronc leaps up and bends in half;
The audience begins to laugh.
He leaps upon the ground in pride,
Thus ending his triumphant ride.

He lifts his hat; the people cheer;
The cowboy grins, from ear to ear.
As handlers guide his bronc away,
He'll live to ride another day.

This life he leads, the rodeo,
Is heartier than people know.
It's in his skin, his blood, his soul,
To fling and fly out of control.

Somehow, he knows it cannot last,
One day, he'll ride from here, full-blast.
He'll soar on mounts that really fly,
In God's great roundup in the sky.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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