Pick it stiffened-up.
I’m gonna move it a millionth-mile,
Wait and see.
I’m gonna shove it with my shoulder;
I’m gonna smile-bashful on the boulder
Rolling-up the ridge in-front-of-me.
I’m gonna race into rage;
I’m gonna rip gate-off-the-cage
For the mock’bird who’d want to taunt me—
Let ’em see with chirpless clarity.
The story’ll be tiffed
With pencil-tips as to how it was or should be;
But dare understand me:
My fight was
So very little
To do with me.
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