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Cowboy Poetry

I’ve always had to stretch my legs when climbing to the saddle.  And now my age is telling me, “Each time you’ll have a battle.”
You see I stand at five feet three, a product of my source.  So, tell me why I always seem to ride a danged tall horse.
I’ve watched my father ride a horse.  His choice was tall as well.  He always mounted from the ground, as far as I could tell.  
And even though his age has kept him down, but mostly sound, he says, “I’ll ride a tall horse till I’m six feet in the ground.”
I’ve used a stump so many times, for sure a rock or two.  And now I wonder should I place extensions on each shoe?
I might as well sport high heels.  I’d be the laughing stock.  I guess I’m not clear thinking ‘cuz those cowboys sure would talk.  
Last week I hung a strap down low with a stirrup at the end.   So I’d have an extra foothold to climb up and then descend.  
But the strap and extra stirrup snagged a sagebrush, ‘bout midday.  I had tied it to the back cinch, tore the strap and cinch away.  
My wife said, “Try some yoga.  You can learn to stretch a limb.”  But hanging out with Rodney Gee, the chance is mighty slim.  
I’ve heard that camels kneel to help their riders to the seat.  If Pal would learn to bend a knee, that’d sure enough be sweet. 
But Pal ain’t gonna kneel on down to help someone get saddled.  There ain’t no clear solutions and I’ve never been this rattled!
So once again I find myself back at the drawing board.  I’d welcome your ideas that I haven’t yet explored.
And if you see me leading Pal, well off the beaten track.  I’m not walking for the exercise, just can’t climb on his back.

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