by David De Jong
Stuck here in the saddle, followin’ a herd
Been a right long time, haven’t heard a word.
Got stories, recollections, chasin’ in my head
Colt strapped to my side, six pieces of lead.
Rifle in the scabbard, loaded, ready to aim
The trail we ride, none any too tame.
Cougar waitin’ up a tall pine, wolves by the pack
Rattlers slitherin’ quiet, hidin’ in a crack.
The paint believes he’s the favorite, since I saddle him the most
Truth be told, he slips through timber, slick as a fleein’ ghost.
He’s sure on his feet, an’ keeps a smooth stride
Makes gatherin’ the herd, a most pleasant ride.
The cows don’t talk, but you can tell what they say
Scent of water in the breeze, they be headed that way.
Should reach that river soon, just below Shirley’s Ridge
Clean, cool, current, flowin’ peaceful, under a natural bridge.
Plenty of grass for the herd, we’ll make camp for the night
Sunset, snowcaps to the west, simply inspirin’ sight.
How that ridge took her name, take more than a written page
First laid eyes on my beautiful wife there, tendin’ the stage.
She’ll be waitin’ there, fire ready, biscuits an’ coffee, hot
Standin’ tradition, every ride, we meet that same ol’ spot.
I’ll bring a fresh grouse, to fix with her wild berries and sage
She’ll prepare it all, with tender love, never tired with age.
Come daybreak, we’ll finish the trail together, stride by stride,
An old cowpoke in a saddle an’ a pretty lady, ridin’ side by side.
Must admit, “stuck” in the saddle, was a poor choice of the word
No place I’d rather be, than along side my bride, followin’ the herd.