End Of The Trail

This horse of mine is gettin’ old
He’s deaf, half blind and lame
But he remembers life as it used to be
And expects it to stay the same.
He eats his oats and chews his hay
Does everything with style
And if I go out into his corral
Gives me what he thinks is a smile.

But if I saddle another bronc
I know he’ll feel quite low
So I throw my saddle on his back
And climb on nice and slow.
I walk him over and through the gate
And up into the hills
And amble on at a leisurely pace
Until he’s had his fill.

If I can please him once a day
If only for a ten minute ride
Then he doesn’t object if I rope another
That has a livelier stride.
My old pal has seen his day
And it causes me to frown
But I know the day is coming soon
When I’ll have to put him down.