Worn out leather,
rough around the edges
faded color, and
antique looking.
Resting on the fence,
the sun hitting the unpolished metal,
the ladigo hanging down.
The girth covered with hair,
it's my saddle.
It's my old friend.
Nothing fancy, never has been,
never will be.
The worn out leather,
the rough edges
faded color, and
antique look.
That's my saddle,
my old friend.
