My gentle-spoken Southern friend
Decided not to walk,
And found a spotted German horse
He said would never balk.
I didn't have the urge to ride,
But I confess no fear,
Just a tiny tingling twinge
In what they call my rear.
But then again, I am a man,
At least I'd have to try.
But I didn't like the look I saw
Within that horse's eye.
I approached him softly from the left.
He only turned his head
And grinned and showed his yellow teeth,
But not a word he said.
My foot was on the stirrup bar.
I flung my body high
And when I landed, soon I saw
The saddle pass my eye.
We tried again and did it right.
I'd reached the very top.
But then he started all alone.
How do you make him stop?
I shouted, "Whoa!" and kicked him hard,
Right in his tender side.
He broke into a gallop then.
Those Gates were open wide.
At last he stopped his galloping
And ambled sure and slow.
Ah! This is fun to ride, at last.
Like this, I love to go.
But something still was not just right.
At teamwork he did frown,
For he was always going up
While I was coming down.
And when I started up at last,
And thought he'd do the same,
I found that he was going down.
Now, how can I explain?
And so my bottom's good and sore:
My first ride and my last!
And thankful tho' I'm still alive
And that all danger's past.
If you should chance a horse to see,
You'll never find me with him
Until I found the one for me,
With my erratic rhythm.