Each piece of clothing tells a tale – about its worthy host.
But more than any other garb, the one that says the most.
Is the buckle worn about the waist – the first place we all look,
That ID tag that’s front and center – open book.
A rating system firmly placed and worn upon a belt,
Is the surest proof of glory and impressing someone else
We rank ourselves and others ‘cause it’s what’s up front that counts.
It represents our talents, skill and luck with bank accounts.
If it spells a title large, hard-earned, then wear it with a smile.
Displaying and out-cooling those around you by a mile.
There’s etiquette and style and flair in wearing such fine banners.
There’s also quite a set of rules – just like with old Miss Manners.
Never try to “show it off’ – Just wear it there and wait.
And make sure it’s shined and polished – gleaming like a dinner plate.
One thing that folks must learn is how you get the thing.
The answer is your horse or you must win it in the ring.
You can’t go out and buy one; you pay to sing this song.
And only with some seasoning and time can you belong.
But when you do, you’ll know you’ve come the one and only way
And proudly wear it everywhere and every single day.
Along with rules on how they’re worn, you learn to get them read.
A quick glance downward then away- but you mustn’t move your head.
And for heaven stakes don’t stare as you read slowly – it’s not done.
You have to focus quickly – to see what it says was won.
Granted that’s done easier with bellies young and hard,
Like reading from a chalkboard or a nicely printed card.
The difficulty does increase with the way that some are built.
As bulging bellies push right down and make the buckle tilt.
And sometimes buckles disappear – enveloped in the fold.
If that’s the case, just give it up; that info’s safe as gold.
The only thing you can surmise from seeing such a sight
Is whether or not there really is a buckle fastened tight.
Nothing lasts forever, friends. It’s just the way we’re made
And someday finally – even those Futurity buckles fade.
And that’s the way that life unfolds, in spite of force of will.
If your newest buckle’s ten years old you’ve gone right o’er the hill.