Well The Cowgirl Was

Well the cowgirl was a gypsy
Balancing tipsy, one-legged Jethro style
Unerring aim with sweet air kisses all hits no misses,
And in her eyes of sheer sunrise some universal wink
She saw so fast all through had to blink before I think I knew;
Her mama was a psychopath so cruel we had to laugh and shrug it off
the tragic schism of her childhood drama would have de-proselytized a Dali Lama
And yet,
In time she built her saloon temple full of gongs, bells wind chimes
With only a zebra car, an Annie Oakley guitar, and a never ending cigarette,
With an altar made for sacrifice of certain sins always threatening to steal
The faith she fought so hard to win in order to begin again to heal
Would take an infinite lifetime of prayer and a silver bullet gun
Who knows but that she may one day set her seal against the burning sun
To shoot the stars for crimes of light against a deeply innocent night
Where I prayed that she might kiss me
well the cowgirl was a gypsy,
pardon me if I get tipsy
Sometimes higher than a violet atop a ladder
On the scout for a light she says, "Look Up Cowboy
bring me down that star to the right, just for tonight.
Soul touch your coal to my cigarette, that I may enjoy.
This ain't no part time hookup partner if you read me,
You'd best believe your Cowgirl is a gypsy."




Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 566 times
Written on 2014-09-18 at 16:56

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