The saddles on the stands are silent now Waiting for the riders that will never come. Drying leather collecting the inevitable dust Dreaming of distant days in summer sun. Days now long gone by but not yet forgotten Were they just a dream that was never real. Or do they merely exist in dim memory now The quiet recollections and emotions we feel. The saddles on the stands are silent now Waiting for the riders that will never come. The days of action clouded in arena dust Were days of play and hard work done. Where have all the horses and people gone Vanished like smoke from the old cook stove. Why they are quietly waiting across the river Resting in the shade of a cottonwood grove. I think I can almost make them out in the dim haze That looks like my Dad and Mom there in the shade. And the sorrel there - is that old Red’s stately stance And then my vision of them began to slowly fade. And I knew I would never see them again until I too Make the final crossing into that distant unknown land. And once again I shed a tear as I sometimes quietly do When I think I faintly hear the music of a distant band. We hope that our final crossing will be quiet and calm But it may be turbulent and hard to accept and handle. We know that life is challenging but is worth the battle And for all those who have preceded, we light a candle. Alas, we may resemble our silent aging saddles They need the challenge of working hard again. For we know you wear out faster standing idle Than in the grim arena facing the endless strain. So I send my love to all on both sides of that river It has been a gift to know you and be at your side. If only for a short while here and now in this life While we wait to be led across by the Master Guide.