Still Tall in the Saddle

Some people say I’m gettin’ old,
Because my hair’s no longer gold,
And I am troubled when it rains
With achy bones – all kinds of pains.

And yet, I’d pose an argument
To those who think my life is spent–
The folks who think I’m headin’ out
Don’t know what youth is all about.

‘Cause in my heart, I’m still quite frisky–
Don’t need spirits, don’t need whisky
To keep me sittin’ in the saddle
Ridin’ tall and ropin’ cattle.

My head is clear as fresh, spring water,
And I feel skittish as an otter.
The folks who think I’m runnin’ down
Can’t tell a smile from a frown.

Now I ain’t sayin’ I’m not worn
And scarred as my old saddle horn.
My face has seen a heap o’ weather;
It’s lined and battered as old leather.

And there are crows’ feet ‘round my eyes.
But all that’s just a quaint disguise.
The folks who think I’m all washed up
Can’t tell an old dog from a pup.

‘Cause even though my joints are bound-up,
I’ve not yet gone to my last round-up.
For I can wrangle, and I can brand
As well as any young cowhand.

With shoulders square and fingers steady,
I’m like a young buck, rough and ready.
And folks who think my sun is settin’
Can’t feel the second wind I’m gettin’.

But please don’t think that I’m a braggin’--
I know some parts o’ me are saggin’:
I’ve gained a chin and lost my butt,
And, yeah, I’m gettin’ quite a gut.

My eyebrows, they just grow and grow,
And I’ve got some gout in one big toe.
But folks who think I’m cashing in,
Don’t know a good deed from a sin.

‘Cause when I turn in for the night,
I still can see in dusk, some light–
The rosy rays of settin’ sun
Remind me that the day is done.

But my life hasn’t run its course--
I still sit tall upon my horse.
And folks who think my time has gone
Can’t tell the sunset from the dawn.


--Copyright Sharon Nauta Steele
February 2006
Inspired by JK Dooley’s painting, “Tall in the Saddle”