Yes, I guess it’s true....
A thinker? Yes, I make the claim
A poet? Yes, that too.
I wonder why I cannot delve-
And find the inner man...
A person never conquers that...
He does not understand.
Some people read the lines I write
And say, “Oh, that’s so sweet”.
The very same might tremble
If we should chance to meet.
To see me one might be surprised-
That writing’s to my taste...
And call my manners vulgar,
My talents deem a waste.
It may seem contradictory-
And vulgar unto some-
The very hand which wields the pen
Is expert with the gun.
I try to be respectful,
But I will not play a game-
I’ll deal with you in honesty,
Demand of you the same.
I’ll not insult your honor-
Nor lay a hand on you....
But treat me with the same respect
Or dire results you’ll rue.
I weigh about three hundred pounds
Barefoot, I’m six foot three...
It takes a brave man, or a fool
To pick a fight with me.
Beneath that hard, and calloused shell
There dwells a softer man...
Who loves the wild, and lovely things
I do not understand...
Why we cannot be reconciled-
This other man and I?
It seems instead, that peace can come
But only if one die.