Reckon it was two year ago
When I rode out on that East range—
The sky were dark and right spooky
And the strays was actin’ might strange.
Then there come a huge ol’ rain storm
And thunder cracked the great dark sky—
That’s when lightnin’ struck my saddle
And I thought I was gonna die.
Well, that bolt sent me a flyin’
And I fell twelve feet from my hoss—
Looked up and I startin’ prayin’,
Then I got up to count my loss.
Ol’ Joe, my hoss, was stone dead—
It was a wonder I was alive—
I rubbed my ol’ achin’ rearend
And wondered if God would arrive.
It was then I saw my saddle,
Shimmerin’ and lit like a sign—
There was somethin’ magic ‘bout it,
That the lightnin’ had left behind.
I unstrapped it from Joe and walked
That long seven miles to my shack—
And when I told my story to folks,
They kept walkin’ and never looked back.
I got me a new hoss next day
And slung on that God-struck saddle—
Then I returned to that East range
To round up the storm-scattered cattle.
I then noticed somethin’ right strange,
At first I thought I was off my nut—
No matter how much my new hoss bucked,
Seemed that saddle was glued ta my butt!
Always one ta take advantage
Of good things that would come my way—
Next day I entered the rodeo
To see if luck with me would stay.
So as you might suspect, ol’ pard,
I entered the buckin’ bronc contest—
And after every hoss was tired,
The judges said I sure was the best.
Them hosses bucked ever which way—
There weren’t none could send me flyin’—
One even fell onto my leg—
Guess ya couldn’t fault ‘em fer tryin’.
But there I was ridin’ high,
Stuck to that saddle like hard glue—
And when it came time ta get off,
I even gave its to the pick-up crew!
That summer and next I rode wild—
Won every rodeo around—
Then one fateful night it happened,
When I heard that far rumblin’ sound.
I was ridin’ that hoss, Mean Green,
When a thunderstorm jest appeared—
And right in the middle of a buck,
Lightnin’ struck and I was plum sheared!
They say lightnin’ never strikes twice—
At least ways not in the same place—
But I could tell my butt was burnin’
By all the looks on the crowd’s face.
I went streakin’ by the judges
Like a comet that’s all afire—
And when I come down in the bull chute,
I knew my bronc bustin’ days expired.
That ol’ bull dang nearly killed me—
Thought he was puttin’ out my flame—
And that hoss, Mean Green, was happy,
A trottin’ around like he was tame.
When I retrieved that magic saddle,
It was frayed and ‘bout all burnt black—
And I never rode another bronc
Unless it could only be bareback.
So don’t talk ‘bout “blazin’ saddles,”
‘Cause I done had me all my fills—
And if a sudden storm comes up,
You’ll find me headin’ fer the hills!
Glen Enloe has been writing poetry for over 35 years. He also
does leather tooling on the side (holsters, cowboy cuffs, spur straps,
etc.) His first book of cowboy poetry was published late last
summer: “An Ol’ Cowboy Still Remembers.” It’s available through
silvercreekbooks.com or from him directly for $6.95 at Glen Enloe,
805 Tepee Drive, Independence, Missouri 64056.
High Country Communications