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The Saddle Waits
The sunrise paints the prairie gold,
The breeze still hums that tune of old,
Where once I’d ride with reins held tight,
Now I rock through the hush of night.
My boots sit still by the old back door,
Dusty dreams from days before.
The saddle waits on its wooden stand—
But now I hold life in my hands.
No roundup calls, no cattle cry,
Just lullabies and baby sighs.
I traded spurs for whispered songs,
And sleepless nights that stretch so long.
But oh, my heart—it rides each day,
Through love too fierce to drift away.
Though trails are quiet, and horses rest,
This little one is my newest west.
I miss the wind, the leather’s creak,
The freedom dancing on my cheek.
But I would choose this soft-eyed view
A thousand times, and all anew.
Someday soon, I’ll saddle high,
With baby watching, bright and spry.
We’ll ride again—me and the sky—
But for now, it’s lullabies.
Copyright ©
Maya Smith
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