Rodeo Rider

Rodeo Rider

Our lane's a lonely shady mile
with gentle curve of sleepy snake
all lined with frothing curdy flowers
attended by deep bowing trees
and drystone walls like thick wool scarves
with lambs each side
cavorting with life's green juice
or hopping haybales
Farmer Nelson brings
with ropy tails whipping larks like tops.

And here my lateborn
and amazing daughter
wobbled two hot seasons to master
a wild bucking bike while I puffed after
not daring to let go the saddle.
Born without balance
and of tender nerve but mighty will
she fought to tame the looping lurching
twisting skidding wriggling steed.
The beast would not be broken in.

My pink blonde cowboy girl
star of this rodeo she rode in
no Stetson but a frock of gingham
buck-bounced and clung two full summers
to break the bastard's heart
until at last my clutching hand
was jerked away and she broke free
and streaked along alone and singing
straight as her true heart
and lambs laughed
lapwings tumbled
curlews cleared their throats
(which is their top
expression of surprise)
and now I'll never catch her
along the snaking lane
at last she's off
and fine and free
but oh she rides
away from me