I've become a cowboy.
  The West is in my brain.
It occupies my heart as well,
  Despite the wind and rain,

Because this West is Kerry,
  Maybe Limerick, even Clare.
I've never been to Leitrim
  But someday I'll venture there.

So far being a cowboy
  Has meant eating crisps and sweets,
And counting cats and traffic cones,
  And reading Yeats and Keats.

Someday I'll go to Sligo,
  And Yeats' country I'll see.
I'll feel as if I'm coming home
  Without a front door key.

There's rarely more than one cat
  To count at any time.
The traffic cones have countless clones
  That send good folk to crime.

Life's terrific now that traffic
  Is no longer my concern.
For a stretch of open road,
  No longer do I yearn.

My horse is not the quickest
  But we get along just fine.
His idea of afternoon
  Is after eight or nine.

My uncle was a cowboy.
  William was his name.
His cowboy role enabled him
  Achieve some local fame.

But our roles are very different.
  Unlike his seven brothers,
William was a cowboy
  Because he had some udders.