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Array
(
[sid] => 141007
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Ride
[time] => 2008-03-15 14:55:13
[hometext] => This poem was written and dedicated to my father, Don West. He left his home when he was 13 years of age to go out west and start droving. He worked on many large cattle stations and also was a woodcutter and drover.
[bodytext] => As the old man walks down the street, He thinks back and remembers when. The wild bush horses he did ride, And the cattlemen way back then. They where all tough men, Young and old. In those angry days gone by. Fighting hard and drinking hard, A friend was never denied. As he travelled out west, beyond the black stump. A horseman he would be. Somehow proving to young and old, He would be the best they would ever see. A squatter he came upon On a station far and wide. "Son," the fancy Squatter said, "Just how good can you ride?" This lad who was prone to exaggerate, Stood up and started to speak. "Sir, I have ridden with the best of them, And never been thrown from my seat." "I have tangled with the brumby, The wild bush horse so true. I have dogged many a steer, Even ridden a bull or two." "Now if you ask me if I can ride, dear sir, Expect me to hold my pride." "For I'm a spirited young Aussie lad, Hell, of course I can ride." [comments] => 2 [counter] => 230 [topic] => 43 [informant] => redwest802 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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