by Robin Helweg-Larsen
When the sky-high cowboy enters the room,
Ducking his head to get through the door,
Bringing the storm clouds around him
With sleet falling on his wide-brimmed hat,
All the ladies and not a few men
Gather their skirts or straighten their shirts
And head in his general direction.
What hope then for the rest of us mortals
But to trust that when he opens his mouth
He will prove as elementally dumb
As the sleet falling and melting away.
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