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Canton, Texas


Cowboy Part 

The description of Heaven as explained by the stories I've been told,
is lush green gardens, perfect weather and streets that are made of gold.

But I believe it's what you want from deep within your heart,
And after due consideration, I'll choose the cowboy part.

The weather won't have to be perfect up there upon the range,
For what could be more perfect than watching the seasons change.

And I wouldn't mind a thunderstorm while searching for a lost calf,
it wouldn't spook a heavenly pony, for thunder is just GOD'S laugh.

And lightning is a brief reminder as it streaks across the sky,
Of how short our life on earth was and how quickly it went by.

I won't need streets of gold, nor rivers flowing honey to the sea,
Prairie grass and cool creek water are more than enough for me.

However, a garden would be kind of nice where exotic birds sing,
But a cactus is mighty pretty when it's blooming in the spring.

Of course to walk with our maker forever is everyone's desire,
But I'd like to sit and visit with him by a crackling camp cook fire.

For it's there that I've found him nearest, as well have other men,
After a hard days work and the meal he has provided, before sleep has settled in.

That small glowing light in the whole universe makes all men feel real small,
But knowing he is there to care for us is a comfort to us all.

We realize then we're just a speck of dust when it comes to endless space,
But his love is equal for all of us and each one has their place.

I'll be there with friends long gone and others yet to come,
For without them it couldn't be Heaven because it wouldn't be any fun.

And there will be those there, who while on earth we never got along,
For whatever reason each had felt that we had been treated wrong.

Another good thing about Heaven and living a life without end,
I'll have of all of eternity for making each one of them a new friend.

John B. Fincher


    I was sitting on my front porch, my thought process I was honing,
    When I began to ponder on this here thing that they call cloning.

    Them scientist boys took a little sheep, a scrawny, scraggly ewe,
    And doubled up her DNA and turned her into two.

    Now there's two just like one, at least that's what they say,
    But I don't know who would want two sheep anyway.

    It's said to work on mice and men and other lowly creatures.
    The second one just like the first with all it's faults and features.

    Well, I leans back in my rocking chair and my mind sorta relaxes,
    and I wonder's if'n there was two of me which one would owe the taxes.

1999, John B. Fincher


John told us: The idea for the poem came to me while sitting on the front porch visiting with a friend who was recuperating from heart bypass surgery.
We were discussing events that were going on in the world and the changes we had witnessed since we were kids. Naturally taxes creep into any conversations about life and cloning had been a news topic again in recent
news stories. I combined the two into a short poem. The poem will be
published in 2004 in a book, A Gathering, a collection of poems and short stories I wrote for a regional monthly magazine.




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