I can hear the leather of the saddle,
As I ride atop.
I can feel the reins tighten in my hands,
When I try to make him stop.
I can feel the sturrups around my boots,
When I prepare to dismount.
Don't know how many times I cleared leather,
So many I can't count.
Stared in the eyes of many men,
At fourty feet or more.
Killed many men that wanted to win,
Against me and my fourty-four.
But I am getting old and slower,
My time must be near.
But I will survive and stay alive,
As long as leather I clear.
Copyright © Charles Ruble | Year Posted 2009