The Old Saddle Maker

He started working leather when he was a lad Stop by the saddle shop on his way home from school He knew that was his first love Old wood burning stove for heat, It was all the old shop had The old saddle maker on his stool Seemed like they fit like a glove There was something about the smell of that place The rolls of new leather, their special scent Old saddles brought in for repair, hours of tears and horse sweat The old saddle maker worked at a slow pace Owned the shop, paid no rent Around the old stove, is where the cowboys met For pocket change, the boy would sweep the floor every night As he would watch the old saddle maker work the leather The young boy would saddle soap the old saddle clean Some nights the old saddle maker would work until after midnight Always seemed to be angry in hot weather Saying," Hell no, won't have one of the fancy wind blowing machines" Knives, razors sharp, leather stamping tools galore On the floor, scrapes of leather were everywhere Each were a beauty, the saddle made by the old saddle maker That was once the kid who once swept the floor And learned from the old master who used to be there The making of a old saddle maker