The morning mist lies over the ground Thin and soft as an old cotton blanket Steel-shod hooves move delicately Puffs of dust rising with each step
A blue heron rises from the mist Wings lifting like the sound of a gospel choir Startled, hands grasp leather reins Maintaining control
Years pass We rise, we fall We fall, we rise
The stirrup becomes harder to reach
One day we fall and rise no more We lie in the dust, broken Until a soft grass blanket covers us And we sleep Dreaming Of morning mist, steel-shod hooves and herons We are still cowgirls
The donkey lives in a wooden stall. An ornery thing that kills anything small. A fearless chipmunk came in the door And dug his home in the donkey's floor.
"How dare you, rat!" the donkey said, "Do you not have any fear?" The chipmunk cried, "Donkey please, give me a chance to make things clear! Oh Donkey, you're so great and wise. A God to chipmunks in other guise."
"I came to make my lowly den Far away from kith and kin. To see your wonderousness every day And keep the hunters far at bay."
Donkey raised his head and puffed his chest. "You're truly one who know me best. Because you live like a little gnome, I will allow you to share my home."
"Oh Donkey, you are a noble steed! I know you will deduce my need. My children are all weak and thin, And stare with hunger at your bin."
The donkey looked at his feed in doubt. "What is this you're on about? Asking me to share my meal? Or perhaps you think you can easily steal?"
"Oh Donkey no! We are not thieves! My children can survive on leaves! But crumbs that fall from your blessed mouth, Would make them mightier than chipmunks without!"
The donkey pranced and tossed his head! 'These chipmunks are so easily led.' "Any bits that fall upon the ground, You may drag into your mound."
That night when Donkey was fast asleep, The chipmunk quietly began to creep. He stuffed his cheeks with tasty grains, And laughed at Donkey's lack of brains.
It's so easy to fool a fool, When they believe they're more precious than jewels.
Sitting outside with the poetry Of Mr. D.H Lawrence I feel like I have a bowling ball perched Between my shoulders Heavy and dense Likely to pull me headfirst to the floor at any moment Beside me I sense him glaring at me With his thin and handsome face Eyes rolling Finally he whispers "Here is one you can grasp: 'I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.' Even you should get the gist of that. It was in a movie after all."
