The Gelded Son of Old Bob Bowers Out of Once Double

I’ve miles to go but I have no pony.My hair is braided into a donkey whip. Flies buzz around your sweet tongue, honey.I see you lying in a squeaky dry ditch. Do you taste iron between your teeth?Feel your lousy hair lice crawling creep? You’re home now waiting for a stall with heat.(She bought you baggy pants dangling…