song for a cowdyke 3/6/99 the moon is up there somewhere but i can't see her it's overcast with the remains of a storm front passing through i can't see her but i can feel her pulling at me while i sit snug in my den waiting for summer warmth to beckon me outside for longer periods of time but now i sit here and dream and wonder who is this cowdyke who graces my door who comes in running scattering leaves who brings echos with her of bird calls and wings she sings a cacophony of chirps high in the pines a flock of pine gosbeaks finding seeds the wings of which when spent come twirling down showering her like confetti falling at the bon voyage of winter's cold departing who is this cowdyke who comes riding in on a roan red mare a mare with a wicked laugh and a lazy sigh who sometimes hides in thick trees refusing the whistle refusing the cake bucket all so she can laugh at the cowdyke calling who is this cowdyke who reminisces on a birthday gift from pete, a bay with pointed ears fondly described as a plain rough ride but honest as they come making sure that a cowdyke who gets lazy doesn't stay lazy long a little reminder a not so sweet birthday gift of a bloody nose who is this cowdyke who runs with coyotes and listens to their songs with an open heart who is this cowdyke who graces my door bringing the wilderness inside making me smile

	take me in the shadows take me back to the songbook take me home