'MY STICK HORSE' The mornings couldn't come soon enough To walk him out of his bedroom stall Quietly we'd leave the front porch For not to awaken them all.... Bareback and Barefooted I'd throw a leg over With a gunny sack for saddle bags Across my left shoulder... We'd leave in a trot Chasing the wind Across grass covered with dew Just pass the pig pen... We'd hit the gravel running Leaving a trail of dust Looking for our turn at the post And then through the gate covered with rust.... We followed the fence row Just over the hill And found plenty wild berries to pick And saddle bags to fill.... Sun up, to sun down Through rain and wind If it cleared up We'd ride the Rainbow End to end.... But now he's moved on to greener pastures I still listen for him in the wind, And often look back on our yesterdays I guess I just miss my old friend My Stick Horse
