THE STICK HORSE

By Lee Brock

I rode a stick horse when I was a child;
He was a stallion caught in the wild.
He ran like the wind down the lane;
With charging hoof and flowing mane.


For many a mile we rode each day,
Searching for mavericks which had gone astray.
It cost me nothing, that game to play,
Those days have long since gone away.


Today I drive a pick up truck;
At the gasoline pump I get stuck
For a three dollar bill for a gallon of gas:
I long for these high prices to pass.


So I made myself a stick horse steed:
I can ride to town if I have a need:
If riding a stick horse makes me sick
I can use my horse for a walking stick.