SaddleUpSin
Well-Known Member
Just a little poem, you may or may not like it 
feel free to share if you like as long as you leave my name on I enjoy writing, gives me pride
At the end of every month, my bank account it sways,
Money in, money out, it lingers - never stays,
It used to grace my neck with pearls,
Now in the field it neighs.
Your fancy leather couch may be your favourite seat,
My favourite's leather too, with iron for my feet,
And as I brush my filthy clothes,
It glistens on the rack, so neat.
Against the storm I'll fight, and brace my quaking frame,
Soaking headcollar limp in hand, I'll march on through the rain,
The sopping socks are worth it,
When he thunders to his name.
I may not ever come to own, this roof above my head,
Hardened tough, skin dry and rough, my clothes will bare their thread,
A fortune great, I'll never see,
Fancy things, they're not for me,
But these boots, on my feet, will stay 'til I'm dead!
- Sinead Byrne 12.10.16
feel free to share if you like as long as you leave my name on I enjoy writing, gives me prideAt the end of every month, my bank account it sways,
Money in, money out, it lingers - never stays,
It used to grace my neck with pearls,
Now in the field it neighs.
Your fancy leather couch may be your favourite seat,
My favourite's leather too, with iron for my feet,
And as I brush my filthy clothes,
It glistens on the rack, so neat.
Against the storm I'll fight, and brace my quaking frame,
Soaking headcollar limp in hand, I'll march on through the rain,
The sopping socks are worth it,
When he thunders to his name.
I may not ever come to own, this roof above my head,
Hardened tough, skin dry and rough, my clothes will bare their thread,
A fortune great, I'll never see,
Fancy things, they're not for me,
But these boots, on my feet, will stay 'til I'm dead!
- Sinead Byrne 12.10.16
