He was young, he was tall, he was handsome-
And treated a kid like a man.
He always remembered my nick name,
And he always offered his hand.
We lived out of town, four or five miles-
He’d saddle his horse and he’d ride,
To visit my Dad, I guess it is sad-
But I liked being near to his side.
I knew that he was a real cowboy-
And I knew that he’d rode rodeo,
And made lots of money, not many years back
And won in a lot of big shows.
He gave me a knife, and a dollar,
And taught me a lot of rope tricks
He seemed so alive, and about thirty five,
And to me he just didn’t seem sick.
As time passed his visits grew rarer,
The last time he really looked thin
But his blue eyes still carried their twinkle,
I could see he’d lost none of his grin.
But sorrow and partings are part of the game
The day finally came that he died,
I could not avoid, the fact we’d lost Lloyd,
So I went to the woods and I cried.
I wish I could really have known him,
That he’d not died when I was so small-
He probably wasn’t a large man,
But to me he’s at least ten feet tall.