The Saddle of Youthful Days

Oh, the stirrups sway in the breeze And slick leather shines in the sun, As he slings it on the wood fence With calloused hands of sky dark dun. It’s the saddle of youthful days, The one he rode so long ago— The fenders are worn and rotten, The hand tooling just a shadow. Now as he cleans out the horse barn, He throws away part of this past— There’s not much left that’s worth keeping— It’s only memories that last. He’s had his share of fine leather, Silver conchos and the best tack— But he saved his youthful saddle To conjure things that won’t come back. It was a gift from his father— The first that was just his alone— He still remembers the fresh smell Of that saddle his dad brought home. He recalls all the days and nights, He rode in the bad times and good, How his father was stern but right— How often he misunderstood. And he can still see the first girl That he let ride it in his place— And he can see her honey skin, But he can’t quite recall her face. Yet, soon that saddle won’t be his— It will pass to the first grandson— Free now to ride just one more time Down the long trail that life begun. Oh, the stirrups sway in the breeze And roan clouds have herded the sun— He packs up his youthful saddle, Knowing soon his ride will be done.