through the grey frosty dawn, every cold winters morn, rolled this lad full of life and joy. everyday just the same, down the where he came, he was known as there own saddle boy. in his youth free from strive, he was called from this life, from the sorrows of life\'s highway. he was needed above at the homestead of love, for the last final round of some day. now the sad willows wave on a cold silent grave, where the tall grasses bend and bow. and the jackass\'s laugh is the only epitaph, on the grave of this brave saddle boy. at the school house on the rise, teacher always watch the skies, for the storm cloud that grows like thorn.. you a long way he said, so you better go ahead, saddle up saddle boy ride for home. he had ten miles to ride, through the dark countryside, as the storm all around raged on. just one creek left to cross, struck by driftwood boy & horse, swept away by that mad raging thorn.
and the lightnin overhead, showed the last sandy bed, where the boy and the pony lay. and old boundary rider troy, was the one who found the boy, and who took sad the message the next day. and the old people say, of the long nights in may, when the wind in the valley roam. pounding hooth beach with sound, through the tall timber land, is there own saddle boy ridin home.
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