I was made for chewing fat, shooting bull
And shooing cat. I was made for killing
Time, and dropping dime in a glass half full.
I was made for weaving yarn and thrilling
Barn owls in broad daylight. I was made to
Go through phases of clichés and I will
Do these things and I will wing it. Stayed true
To that old school form of toadstool by still
Spending hours bending humor into
Cream-style corn, blow my own horn and waking
Sleeping dogs while sawing logs or tend to.
Spit against the wind or pit friend taking
Time with those who lack repose while sitting
By themselves on lonesome shelves just knitting.