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Brent Satterswaith


In the early days before bales became all the mode

We hauled our hay loose, me and Lynn on top of the load

Dad and Larry would pitch the hay up on the rack with a fork

And we would jump on those piles, sometimes with a little twist for some torque

One day while we were out hauling hay in the sun

Our neighbor friend cane over, he said it sure loke like fun

We said you can join us if you’ve a mind to

We’d welcome the help and we’ll show you just what to do

It’s called tromping hay and here’s al you have to do

Is jump up and down like you’re dancing at school

So stomping and tromping we made the rounds

Trying to compact that hay, like a three-some of clowns

Our pal worked with us for a while out there in the sun

And said he liked tromping hay,he thought it was a lot of fun

He jumped down for the load, to take care of some biz

And he went behind the hay wagon to take a wiz

The hay was all loaded, to the barn we were headed

To have to walk all the way there was something he dreaded

as we were moving out and he sure didn’t want to miss the ride

But in his hurry to zip up fast, he snagged a good piece of his hide

By the skin of very delicate part he was caught

Yes that zipper had got hold of him where it sure hadn’t ought

In the jaws of his fly that part was entangled

And we were all thinking that maybe for life he’d be mangled

He was screaming and yelling like it was hurting real bad

If it hadn’t a been so funny it woold have really been sad

His mother came running as she heard the commotion

When sje say what had happened she was just full of emotion

His aunt came out took though she was no nurse

She had a hundred suggestions that only made matter worse

Our friend was wailing away like it sure did hurt

His mom was moping his tears with the tail for his shirt’

Everyone was offering ideas on what could be done

Nobody had yet invented the nine-one one

How would you like to o make theta phone call anyway

“Th is is nine – one- one what is the nature of your emergency”

Well, we were hauling hay you see and this neighbor kid came over

And what happened was -----------never mind we’ll figure something out

Hey, I can cut the zipper out with my knife I told him I was sure that I could

He cried even louder and said no sharp object would be allowed in that neighborhood

Finally, his mother gave that fly a few good yanks

And he was ‘free at last’, but could utter no thanks

To keep form laughing out- loud we could hardly refrain

Although it was easy to see that he was in considerable pain

The blow that his psyche took that day was a honey

And it seemed for a long tune that he walked kind if funny

Now there is a lesson to be learned here if you are a guy

Stay away from the quick zip if you don’t like to cry

Brent Satterthwaite

Stationary photo

The cowboy has always been a dying breed,

but he takes his dying slowly,

perched upon his steed..............

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