Country-Fried BULL
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I Asked a Cow 
  by Peter Stewart Richards

I asked a cow the other day
if it prefered any particular kind of hay,
but it was a horse
and it said nay.

'Now listen here' says i, 'chimeric beast,
answer fit for my imagination at least.'
At which such cerebral functioning
must have ceased.

'You are created of myself' says i, 
'Why should you seek my volition to defy?' 
Then the donkey flew away and left a trail 
of muddy hoofprints across the sky.

PSR



A COWBOY'S CHURCH

© 4/99 All Rights Reserved * David Kelley

I don't often get to see inside a church with carpet on the floors,
Fancy pews, and palladium windows tinted up like all outdoors.
I don't "...forsake the gathering...", the Lord knows I long for it in this place,
Why, it's eighty miles to the closest thing resembling a human face.

But, my church suits me fine...oh, now and then, the head count's a little small...
Sometimes one of the riders comes by, but, mostly there's no one at all.
I figured the Lord'd come anywhere I bowed my heart and called on Him,
So, like many times in the past, I'll worship from high atop this rim.

Like a child again, up in the balcony where you weren't s'posed to go...
Never figured that out, why they even built it, I wanted to know,
The ceiling is painted by the Master himself, every waking hour.
Sculptured walls receive a cleansing from the regular evening showers.

Over in amen corner, aspens clatter like a bunch of old maids,
Gossiping about 'things', I expect its mostly because beauty fades.
Wildflowers there in the flaxen meadow bring to mind those streets of gold,
That we're promised we can walk some fine day, if the Master owns our soul.

There's a splendid choir in my church too...those elk bunched there at the North end.
>From high up here you can almost see their robes...complete with collar, Friend.
Their song carries through the valley, a glad chorus on the morning breeze,
A joy to hear, and I rather think it's heard in heaven, if you please.

A few baldy calves mingle like deacons, looking for something to do.
They finally greet one another because the visitors are too few.
An eagle enters on the wing, to perform a beautiful solo...
There is awed silence in the church, in honor of this virtuoso.

A lone pine towers o'er the valley with a lingering cap of snow,
Putting me in mind of a Preacher in south Texas I used to know.
I can't hear too much what he's saying, but my memory fills in the blanks.
When his sermon's over, most times there's approval from the file and ranks.

I've been to the Cowboy Church today, truth is, daily the trip is made.
Where ever I tie my horse is my church...whether meadow, glen, or glade.
See, the church ain't a place, it's simply God in the midst of two or three,
And, as long as He's head auger 'round here, I reckon it's where I'll be.

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