My Steady Old Paint

The West wasn’t won by luck—it was carved by determination and hard work.

My Steady Old Paint, steadfast and true,

With coat splotred white, and eyes of bright dew.

Through canyons wide and rivers that wind,

We roam the range, two souls intertwined.

Up rocky trails where the wildflowers grow,

He leaps with grace, through sunshine and snow.

A heartbeat echoes beneath his strong frame,

In the dance of wind, I can hear his name.

When night falls soft, and the campfire glows,

With tales of the trails and the cowboy’s woes.

He stands his ground, with a watchful eye,

As stars sprinkle dreams across the broad sky.

So here’s to my Paint, my loyal friend,

In every adventure, with him I depend.

Through dust storms and rain, our spirits ascend,

Together forever, on him I contend.