Random Views From the Saddle Horn
Raw-boned trees scratch a dark hazy gray sky—
Far mountains gleam white with winter’s solutions.
Seems it’s this time of year we wonder why,
We even pause to make new resolutions.
In these random views from the saddle horn,
We creak worn leather with our restless spirit—
Like almost from the first day we were born,
We ride this life quickly, yet we still fear it.
And so we’ve lived to see this New Year dawn—
Vow again to do all those things that are right.
But we do not know what each day will spawn
Or if we will softly ride into the night.
So from this saddle horn we barely hold,
We ride on toward what a New Year will unfold.
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