To the Gentle Giants
Ain't nobody don't like horses,
Near as I can tell.
Quarters, Morgans or Arabs.
Most folks find them swell.
Now you might be partial to color
Palomino, sorrel or roan.
'Course ain't nothin' cuter than
A colt not yet fully grown.
Settin' all that aside a minute
There's a type that none surpasses.
For grandeur and for grace
These Gentle Giants of the classes.
I'm talkin' bout the draft horse.
Havin’ strength beyond compare
They are the equine titans
Heads high up in the air.
Clydesdale, Belgian Percheron,
Well known among these bands,
And the biggest is the Shire
Which can be eighteen hands.
We've seen beer wagon beauties
They come to town some years.
But if you wanna see them all
Here's a tip fer just your ears.
There's a special draft horse expo
Been goin’ on for decades.
It's in Deer Lodge, ever’ June
Where, in the arena they parades.
Drivers bring their shining tack,
Their painted wagons ‘n carts.
From near and far they come
Showin’ off these huge steed hearts.
Early sunrise strollin’ through
The barn each morn you’ll find
Cowboys and girls tendin’ harness
Groomin’ an’ lovin' on critters kind.
Then see the team get hitched
A study in skilled labor to watch
Wheelers and leaders fondly paired
Their origins mostly Scotch.
The teamster is an artist,
Driving four, six'n hand or more,
Standing in a freighter, sittin’ in a cart
By these beauties we set store.
Just watchin’ em is poetry
Pulling fire wagons and dogs
Makin dust and moving on
Or ground-drivin’, pullin' logs
Cain’t ride em much.
For workin’ cattle they’re not made.
But fer awe of size and grace,
Surely they’ve been made.