I LOVE LITTLE BABY DUCKS,
OLD PICKUP TRUCKS...
....AND RAIN...." (Tom T. Hall)
I LOVE OLD PICKUP TRUCKS
by Mil
An old pickup truck...
Look at it, sitting there
Cold, empty, sightless,
Scavenged....
A pickup truck is an organ donor.
It may not have had a soul
But it certainly had a heart!
A pickup truck is one of the
Most-loved
And most-loyal
things in the world!
Don't say pickups are "inhuman,
No personality...."
Fact is---the are loaded with personality!
They, to the owner,
Are like his horse and dog!
If pickups had tails,
I believe they'd wag 'em.
If they could speak, you'd hear
"Where to, today, Boss?"
Look, an old pickup...sitting there...
To a lot of people---
Nothing but a rattle-y piece of junk.
But to the one who drove it
These are the remains of a friend,
A companion of many years;
One that got its owner
Over the rough, tough, rocky,
Slick and slide-y roads of life---
Through deep waters, sometimes---
And brought him back home safely
Every time.
Don't worry if yours gets
A few honorable dents...
Over the years, in the "heat of battle"
So to speak,
Or a few rust spots here and there,
Or the paint shows thin---
Why, that's kind of like the "patina"
That they advertise, about old leather.
As you get your wrinkles through the years,
So will your pickup.
When you look at a pickup
You're looking at one of
The most poetic things there is.
Let me explain: it falls into
the poetic class of barns, windmills,
log cabins, wood stoves, quilts,
old leather, front porches, and pocket knives...
If you'd asked Will Rogers about pickups,
He'd have said---
"I never met a pickup I didn't like!"
Pickups come in all shapes...and sizes...
Two doors, three doors, four doors...
One seat---two seats,
Wide bed, narrow bed, short bed, long bed,
Six or eight cylinder, and diesel.
Fog lights, cab lights, spotlights,
Trailer hitches... or plain bumpers.
A skeptic might say
"Well what are pickups good for anyway?"
I'll tell you, but first, friend---
Never judge one until you have rolled
on its tires for a few thousand miles!
These "pieces of junk," as some would call them,
Have paid the price---
Have justified their existence
Have earned their place in the sun.
Pickups are good for anything,
And everything...
Hauling, camping, hunting, fishing,
Tailgating at football games
Businesses, pulling trailers, woodcutting,
Farming, and a dozen other jobs!
The old farm pickup truck
Has hauled it all!
Barrels of gasoline
Heavy sacks of grain,
Bales of hay and shocks of feed,
Tool boxes and spare parts,
Flat tires and air compressors...
Fence posts and barbed wire.
And five gallon grease cans and grease guns.
It has hauled, with sideboards
sick animals to the vet.
It has carried water bags on its side posts
for thirsty farm workers
And watermelons home...for the kids
At the end of the day.
It has driven over farm land
ad infinitum--quarter sections, half sections,
full sections---wet land after rains, dry land,
plowed land, pastures with gullies---
You name it---that's where pickups have gone.
They have hooked onto pulleys,
And pulled sucker rods out of windmills.
And carried tired farmers home...
When the day's work was done.
Over the years being a "farm truck"
Takes its toll.
Just sitting out in the hot sun...
Backing into fences,
Scraping fence posts.
A ding here and a dent there---
Breaking a windshield or window---
All these things take their toll.
If the farm pickup were a soldier
It would have numerous purple hearts.
It's had many surgeries over the years---
New motor, new springs, new tires,
New battery, new radiator, new bumper,
New muffler, new floor rug and
Patched-up seats.
One day, like everything
in this world---
A pickup just kinda wears out.
It is used up.
Tired.
As pickups and people finally get.
Seems nothing lasts forever.
When its last day comes,
It is not buried---
It is taken down to the back pasture
And parked...
Under an old weather-beaten tree.
For a little bit of shade in the summer,
And companionship
In the winter.
Its organs have all been donated...
It is a mere shell of it's once-glorious
shiny self.
It has no windows now....and no headlights...
It can't see anymore.
It sits there, in the fresh air,
Glad to relax---its work on earth
done.
No apologies---it did its best.
And now it is at home,
Out on the open range...
To rest forever,
In the wind and under the sun---
With the little birds singing
in the tree...
where the bunny rabbits scamper
and the deer and the antelope play.
Who knows? Look at it! Maybe it did...
have a soul...after all.
by Mil
An old pickup truck...
Look at it, sitting there
Cold, empty, sightless,
Scavenged....
A pickup truck is an organ donor.
It may not have had a soul
But it certainly had a heart!
A pickup truck is one of the
Most-loved
And most-loyal
things in the world!
Don't say pickups are "inhuman,
No personality...."
Fact is---the are loaded with personality!
They, to the owner,
Are like his horse and dog!
If pickups had tails,
I believe they'd wag 'em.
If they could speak, you'd hear
"Where to, today, Boss?"
Look, an old pickup...sitting there...
To a lot of people---
Nothing but a rattle-y piece of junk.
But to the one who drove it
These are the remains of a friend,
A companion of many years;
One that got its owner
Over the rough, tough, rocky,
Slick and slide-y roads of life---
Through deep waters, sometimes---
And brought him back home safely
Every time.
Don't worry if yours gets
A few honorable dents...
Over the years, in the "heat of battle"
So to speak,
Or a few rust spots here and there,
Or the paint shows thin---
Why, that's kind of like the "patina"
That they advertise, about old leather.
As you get your wrinkles through the years,
So will your pickup.
When you look at a pickup
You're looking at one of
The most poetic things there is.
Let me explain: it falls into
the poetic class of barns, windmills,
log cabins, wood stoves, quilts,
old leather, front porches, and pocket knives...
If you'd asked Will Rogers about pickups,
He'd have said---
"I never met a pickup I didn't like!"
Pickups come in all shapes...and sizes...
Two doors, three doors, four doors...
One seat---two seats,
Wide bed, narrow bed, short bed, long bed,
Six or eight cylinder, and diesel.
Fog lights, cab lights, spotlights,
Trailer hitches... or plain bumpers.
A skeptic might say
"Well what are pickups good for anyway?"
I'll tell you, but first, friend---
Never judge one until you have rolled
on its tires for a few thousand miles!
These "pieces of junk," as some would call them,
Have paid the price---
Have justified their existence
Have earned their place in the sun.
Pickups are good for anything,
And everything...
Hauling, camping, hunting, fishing,
Tailgating at football games
Businesses, pulling trailers, woodcutting,
Farming, and a dozen other jobs!
The old farm pickup truck
Has hauled it all!
Barrels of gasoline
Heavy sacks of grain,
Bales of hay and shocks of feed,
Tool boxes and spare parts,
Flat tires and air compressors...
Fence posts and barbed wire.
And five gallon grease cans and grease guns.
It has hauled, with sideboards
sick animals to the vet.
It has carried water bags on its side posts
for thirsty farm workers
And watermelons home...for the kids
At the end of the day.
It has driven over farm land
ad infinitum--quarter sections, half sections,
full sections---wet land after rains, dry land,
plowed land, pastures with gullies---
You name it---that's where pickups have gone.
They have hooked onto pulleys,
And pulled sucker rods out of windmills.
And carried tired farmers home...
When the day's work was done.
Over the years being a "farm truck"
Takes its toll.
Just sitting out in the hot sun...
Backing into fences,
Scraping fence posts.
A ding here and a dent there---
Breaking a windshield or window---
All these things take their toll.
If the farm pickup were a soldier
It would have numerous purple hearts.
It's had many surgeries over the years---
New motor, new springs, new tires,
New battery, new radiator, new bumper,
New muffler, new floor rug and
Patched-up seats.
One day, like everything
in this world---
A pickup just kinda wears out.
It is used up.
Tired.
As pickups and people finally get.
Seems nothing lasts forever.
When its last day comes,
It is not buried---
It is taken down to the back pasture
And parked...
Under an old weather-beaten tree.
For a little bit of shade in the summer,
And companionship
In the winter.
Its organs have all been donated...
It is a mere shell of it's once-glorious
shiny self.
It has no windows now....and no headlights...
It can't see anymore.
It sits there, in the fresh air,
Glad to relax---its work on earth
done.
No apologies---it did its best.
And now it is at home,
Out on the open range...
To rest forever,
In the wind and under the sun---
With the little birds singing
in the tree...
where the bunny rabbits scamper
and the deer and the antelope play.
Who knows? Look at it! Maybe it did...
have a soul...after all.
and rain..........
"I Love" by Tom T. Hall
sung by Tammy Wynette and Tom T. Hall:
"I Love" by Tom T. Hall
sung by Tammy Wynette and Tom T. Hall:
*********30*********
BY MIL
12/06/12
Sent from my iPad
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