Page 50 - PoemsNeathTheWesternSky

Bucky sprang through those trees

His clothes was such a mess
If anyone asks if he can outrun a moose

He'll always answer yes.

Bucky ran up this little tree,

To a branch that made this cracking sound.
This is when Bucky made his trophy ride

With the moose neath him on the ground.

A couple of boys back in camp

Was passing round a tin of snoose.
Bucky crashed through the timber

Sitting backwards on this moose.

I took one look at Shorty,
You could see the terror in his eyes.

Ol cookie just stood there shaking his head,
With Bucky it was no surprise.

Bucky was white as a sheet

And his clothes was all tatter'n torn

He couldn't get off that moose if he'd wanted to
With his butt wedged tween them horns

He came right down the middle of camp

With a death look ya couldn't fake.
He rode that moose plumb up the crick

And never found the brake.

When ya talk about yer hunting trips,

Ol’ Bucky put on quite a show
He likes to brag bout this moose he rode

Just like in a rodeo.