Chapter 21

My original Poetry about Cowboys of the Wild West

Dust on my hat, sun in my eyes, Riding the range, under wide skies. Cattle to herd, across the plains so grand, Working the land, with calloused hand. Then shadows creep, a rustler's sly design, Horses gone missing, a desperate sign. We spur our steeds, a chase begun, Until the thieves are caught, and justice done. Distant drums sound, a tribal cry, Native peoples watching, as we pass them by. Sometimes a clash, a tense, uneasy stand, Protecting our herds, across this wild land. Campfires flicker, beneath a starry dome, Miles from home, but this is where we roam. A simple life, of grit and of the trail, Facing the dangers, through sun and through gale.