Wicked Witch of the East
In fifty-nine, was just wee boy,
I had two heroes, one was Roy,
My other idol, was much bigger,
A golden horse, by name of Trigger.
My Christmas wish, was for a horse,
A Palamino, gold of course,
On my knees, each night would pray,
Could hardly wait, for Christmas Day.
On Christmas morn, I woke at dawn,
Crept downstairs, out to the lawn,
There to a tree, a rope was tied,
Fresh horse droppings, not yet dried.
I stood and gazed upon bare rope,
I felt the pain of shattered hope,
As from behind, I heard Dad say,
I guess your horse, got plumb away.