He sat upright in the saddle high
Looking out across the land
Wearing boots that had seen better days
Reins held loosely in one hand

He remembered dust blowing in his eyes
Of flies swarming around his leathered face
Harsh sun beating down without respite
Where night would bring so little grace

Yet he sat there so confused and sad
Wondering where and who am I
When another man came wandering up
He looked him squarely in the eye

Please tell me why I sit here now
In this saddle on this fence
With a stockwhip in my arthritic hand
It makes no bloody sense

Its Alzheimer’s you old stockman
And your memories fading fast
But if you read that book you’ve got there
It will tell you of your past

So he opened up the dog eared book
And read of what he had to say
For when he knew his mind was going
He’d written words for just this day

Your name is Thomas Brown
Though you’ll answer to Tommy B
You’re old and frail and senile
Born in nineteen twenty three

You’ve had a good life son
Enjoyed a wife and three fine kids
But now you’ve outlived all of them
And your mind is on the skids

You put yourself in old age care
When you knew your life was run
This saddle strapped on to this fence
Your concession for times to come

So enjoy the words you read today
You’ll read them again tomorrow
This day has come and will go too fast
Future days will bring more sorrow

Sitting proudly upright in the saddle
With book held firmly in his hand
As the tears ran down his rugged face
He felt no more the man

They found him on a rainy night
Dressed in boots and shirt and hat
His stockwhip trailing on the ground
It looked ready for the crack

They buried him late that winter
With his saddle, boots and hat
For now he’d gone on one last stock run
And would not be coming back