Rapscallion

- for my friend, Aaron


I knew a young rapscallion
who rode a painted mare
his wry smile widened slightly
as the breeze blew back his hair

His swagger showed of cockiness
this self-sure lad with charm
and rarely did he walk the street
without some young girl’s arm

But soon he felt too restless
and wanted something more
some Indians were calling and
the clown was getting sore

He rode his horse around and ‘round
then sauntered off to sea
to find some new adventures there
and left me sipping tea

For many years he traveled ‘round
and tempted every Fate
he even dueled the devil once
just outside of Hell’s gate

I never knew where he had been
until the other day
a letter said that he was back
and coming home to stay

I met him at a local pub
and we drank many beers
his hair was shorter, grayer too
his face now showed the years

But he is a rapscallion still
with still the sharpest wit
tho’ time has slowed his body some
this rogue, he just won’t quit

So, sirs, warn your fine young daughters
and lock up all of your wine
for neither will be saved from that
rapscallion friend of mine