He gets up at six or five,

A part of being alive…

He’ll achieve

The effort to breathe,

Before into bed again dive!

Watching Saturday westerns,

Roy Rodgers, black-and-white veterans…

The bad and good

Were understood,

Reality wasn’t mentioned.

To us kids it was a lark,

Playing cowboys in the park…

Older now

I realize how

Judgment and characters start.

Old Roy didn’t have street smarts

Unless they were hidden arts…

Few complications

In situations,

With singing before we.d part!

Up at the crack of dawn,

How long will this go on…

Til the hand finally slips

And loses its grips,

Then the one who grew up is gone!

–Jonathan Caswell

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