When the final rays of light
slip behind the moutains
and the land's alive with
the distant lonesome coyote howls
and cattle lowin',
the cowboy sits awhile
by the campfire
cookin’ his beans.
The smell of burning mesquite,
coffee, an biscuits
fill the air
and the stars
are the only light for miles.
There's nothin’ more
that can compare.
The morning brings another day
with saddle sores
and blazin’ sun,
the cowboy rides the open range
from dawn till dusk
when work is done.
A man from the West
living by his wits,
wrestlin’ steers,
and mendin' fence
for nothin’ more than
pure accomplishment and short pay.
Working in the desert winds
and the dust has worn him pretty thin.
He continues to do it
With a grin.
His eyes are growing dimmer.
The pleasures left are fewer.
Like faded jeans and worn boots,
his life's become
a paler shade of blue.
But, through it all,
he gives the Lord praise;
ever thankful
for his cowboy ways.

another great write ma

I do believe "the Highwaymen" would be right proud of the job you did here.

Thank you ladylid
writer_gurl


Lady Wench I do believe that is the best compliment I could get.
Thank you hun...

Nice..I feel like I'm there on the range, too... Not just any poem can transport you..that's a sign of good writing! Thanks for sharing it!

{{{Ma_}}}

To loving your life!

Such a sensory write ma_t