The Littest Saddle

THE LITTLEST SADDLE

It sat on its rack, lonely and still,
Covered by blankets, smelling of sweat,
Years had passed, as must they may,
Forgotten, forlorn, and weathered by time.

When I was born, and bright, shinny new,
The little Boy’s eyes, like stars did twinkle,
Oohing and ahhing, and a birthday cake,
On his face and hands and smeared on my seat.

My place on a stand, like a trophy hard won,
Polished and kept, at the foot of his bed,
Last to be seen, as sleep filled his eyes,
First to be touched, when breakfast was neigh.

Now out grown with time, and replaced by another,
Play day won and rodeo reared,
Stored and forgotten, my shine dusted away,
My place of honor, now a smelly ol’ stand.

My fine tooling, with dust and dirt caked,
My soft wool, now matted or gone,
Rich leather, cracked and crying for oil,
To the littlest saddle, it seemed life was gone.

So slowly and quietly, the blankets came off,
Light hits my face, as the dirt’s washed away,
Oils and creams rubbed into my skins
My leather softens and shines and my life starts again.

My old owner’s now filled with the pride of his new Son,
Blond hair tussled from a new little hat,
Chaps and boots, just out of the box,
The newest littlest, cowboy, walks stiffly with pride.

The littlest saddle, now shinny and cleaned,
Retrieved from its roost, with new honor and pride,
The littlest cowboy, now has something to ride,
The littlest saddle, with the youngest astride,
Now a most precious item, in the littlest of eyes.

Jim Kitchens
@2001
Brady