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Poems of my cousin, Ura May
Jodhpurs and a Quirt


“What are those funny pants Ura May? You wear?”
“They’re called Jodhpurs to be worn in weather fair,”
“They serve while the horse is with an English saddle,”
“So grand and classy, one I can straddle.”
I said, “They look kind of like weird things,
“Something that has wings.”

“Do not be rude,” Mother warned.
“You don’t want Ura May’s scorn.
“Well certainly, not that,”
I thought, “but where is her hat?”

Mother explained, “You don’t wear cowboy,
When going after the fox, that boy.”
“What!” I was shocked, “That one with socks?”
Mother muttered, “Yes, at first he’s in a box.

I thought about it some,
It seemed to me somewhat glum,
Then there was that stick with a tab,
What was it for? Maybe a jab?

“Ura May! What is that stick you keeps slapping
On your jodhpurs, whacking, whacking?”
“Well, you see this is a quirt,
No more questions, off with you, Squirt.”


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