Hay in Your Boots

the city beckons me back
with promises of
lost love
drama
and the Beautiful Lights
shining by the cityscape
perfect next to the stars.

But I'm stuck to the country like
dirt on my blue jeans
mud on the pig
spots on the Buel's beef cows
and a tree to the ground.

someday I'll get back to my city
to bright lights
to late nights
and 24 sleepless hours
because blue jeans must eventually be washed
the rain keeps the pig clean
cows become burgers
and great trees fall.

'til then, there are stalls that need muckin'
horses that need puttin' out an' brushin' an' puttin' back in
a chicken coop ta clean
goats ta feed
an' a field ta hay.

when ya been nearly kicked by a horse
heard the call of a hay baler in a hot 'n' lonely field
an' been pricked by the hay in yer boots one too many times
ya know yer stuck to the country
like dirt on yer blue jeans
mud on a pig
spots on the Buel's beef cows
an' a tree ta the ground.

concrete don't move on it's own
and the city ain't goin' nowhere.