When I was a kid, we learned to listen,
For the song that Dad’s spurs would play.
They were a beacon to where he would be,
Or the sound of him coming at the end of the day.

The sound they made on the kitchen floor,
As he walked over to kiss his bride.
Was the sign to me that he was home,
And not leaving no matter how hard the ride.

And the sound they made as he led my horse,
Would sure set my mind at ease.
No matter how scary or hard life got,
Those spurs would be singing right next to me.

I’ll never forget the sound they made,
When the day was long and the work was tough.
I felt like I was on top of the world,
Because he took me along to do “Cowboy Stuff”.

I remember the day I heard those spurs,
As he came running down the hall.
He burst in to the hospital room,
Just in time to hear his first grandbaby bawl.

Well the years and miles have taken their toll,
And Dad don’t ride much anymore.
I sure miss the song those spurs would sing,
Most of the time they hang silent by the door.

Today, Dad’s spurs have gone quiet,
This side of heaven, those spurs are all I hold.
But I smile at the thought of the sound they make,
My dad’s silver spurs on a road of gold.

-Justin Palmer