Empty Saddle | Cowboy Poetry
Cowboy Poetry
We have all looked over our shoulder while horseback riding in the wilderness. What we think we see and what we feel – are with us always.
THE EMPTY SADDLE, Cowboy Poetry by Sharon Gibson Those days I rode a bay horse, He was short and fat and fine While my Daddy rode a dappled chestnut about twice as nice as mine.
We rode both hills and valleys,
There wasn’t a trail we wouldn’t try
But on goat paths and narrow ridges
My sister’s pony could still pass us by.
Then there were years when I rode nothing,
Save those ridges run in dreams,
While I dreamed the smell of sweet alfalfa,
And of crossing mossy streams.
Those secret dreams would not end,
Of coyotes and bobcats free,
Of hawks and bats above,
All those creatures wild with me.
So, these days I ride a different bay,
While my brother rides a roan,
And we ride those same old mountains,
But now we ride alone.
I’ve missed that dead broke pal of mine,
That first fat blood red bay.
He was the best Texas colt,
That ever came my California way.
Most of all I miss that chestnut,
And my Daddy’s Stetson hat.
To hear that low drawl “whoa, son” now,
Could be nothing finer than that.
Still, in the shadows I have seen dapples,
And in the wind I sometimes hear,
A rider from far behind us,
A clear and steady cadence bringing up the rear.
Now when I hear those rustling leaves,
And think on all I’ve known,
It seems that though the saddle may be empty,
I do not ride alone.
