The Bronco Poem by Henry Herbert Knibbs

The bronco's mighty wild and tough,
And full of outdoor feelin's:
His feet are quick, his ways are rough,
He's careless in his dealin's.

Each mornin' he must have his spree,
And hand you plenty trouble
A-pitchin' round the scenery
Till you are seein' double.

Or mebby-so, you think he's broke,
And do a little braggin';
'Plumb gentle hoss!' he sees the joke,
And leaves--with reins a-draggin'.

Or, mebby-so, you think he'll jump
That little three-foot railin':
When all he does is stop and hump,
And stay--while you go sailin'.

But when his pitchin' fit is done,
And ropin', cuttin', brandin',
Is on the bill--I'll tell you son,
He works with understandin'.

At workin' stock he's got his pride:
--Dust rollin', boys a-yellin'--
He'll turn your steer, and make you ride,
And he don't need no tellin'.

Perhaps you're standin' middle-guard,
Or ridin' slow, night-hawkin':
And then your bronc is sure your pard,
At loafin', or at walkin'.

Or, when the lightnin' flashes raw,
And starts the herd a-flyin',
He's off to head 'em down the draw,
Or break your neck, a-tryin'.

A bronc he sure will take his part,
At gettin' there or stayin':
He'll work until he breaks his heart,
Be he don't sabe playin'.

He may be wild, he may be tough,
And full of outdoor feelin's:
But he's all leather, sure enough,
And he puts through his dealin's.