Poems, phrases, statements

Clean
Easy
Logs
And
Don't
Over
Night Run Illegal


Here logs is a quick one for you

 

Keeping my log so legal
LogsRUs loves it
But I never get to sleep

A little haiku for y'all

 

THE BALLAD OF BILLY THE BULL

WRITTEN BY I. EMMA FARMER

Billy the Bull was a bovine male,​

Glossy and sleek from his ears to his tail.​

And no young male was ever so full,​

Of vigor and vim as Billy the Bull.​

​

But he wasn't contented, I'm sorry to say,​

Confined as he was, in the pasture all day.​

Especially so, as Billy could see,​

Some cute little heifers, who happened to be,​

In the field next door, and as heifers will,​

They kept rolling their big brown eyes at Bill.​

​

So all day long he kept running around,​

With his tail in the air, and pawing the ground.​

He'd look at that fence with a baleful eye,​

And wonder if he could jump that high.​

​

An older bull, and wiser by far,​

Said "cool it young man, just stay where you are.​

Eat your clover, be patient and wait,​

And one of these days, they'll open that gate.​

That fence you see is six feet or higher,​

And across the top, three strands of barbed wire".​

​

But the call of romance wouldn't be deferred,​

And Billy ignored the advice he had heard.​

He said; "with a good running start I'll bet,​

I could clear that fence, without any sweat".​

​

So he backed away twenty yards or more,​

And lowered his head with a rumble and roar,​

Like a run-away train flew over the ground,​

And put all he had into one mighty bound.​

​

A prettier sight you never have seen,​

As he sailed through the air like a flying machine.​

And if it hadn't been, for that top wire there,​

He'd a cleared that fence without touching a hair.​

​

The heifers applauded, for they didn't know,​

His jump was a couppla inches too low.​

So all together, they gave out with a cheer,​

As over the fence, came ....... Billy the Steer!!!​

​

PES/10-86​

 

DISILLUSHING OF A SWITCHMAN
By I. Emma Snake

Thirty plus weary years ago, I left my boyhood home.​

I was gonna be a brakeman, and o'er the railroad roam.​

​

I'd buy a golden watch chain, and wear a black felt hat.​

I'd eat in all the beanry's, and with the hasher's chat.​

​

I'd buy a pair of yellow shoes, and wear a diamond ring.​

I'd have a gold tooth in the front, and boy, I'd be the thing.​

​

But I wound up as a switchman, and on the lead I stand.​

With a foolish look upon my face, and a brake club in my hand.​

​

My watch chain is a leather strap; my hat's a denim rag.​

And as I wander round the yard, my shoulders' kinda sag.​

​

Those hashers I was gonna kid, turned out to be just one.​

I married her right off the bat; my diamond ring was done.​

​

But as I look back on those years, I can very plainly see,​

That to be a boomer brakeman was never meant for me.​

​

For I am just as happy, as if I'd got to roam.​

Cause I rather be a switchman, that to be away from home.​