A cowboy who accidentally herds a group of stubborn roadrunners instead of cattle

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

In the dusky light where shadows play,

A cowboy rode, through dust and clay.

With lassos ready, he checked his trail,

Yet up ahead, a strange sight to unveil.

Instead of cattle, on the horizons bend,

A flock of roadrunners, quick as the wind.

With feathers fluffed, and beaks aglow,

They dashed through sage, more daring than slow.

“Whoa there, birdies!” he called with a laugh,

As they zigzagged wildly, swift as a calf.

Each twist and turn, they’d tease and taunt,

A stubborn crew, playing the part of a vaunt.

As the sun dipped low, with colors anew,

He chuckled at fate, for trouble he drew.

In the heart of the West, where legends still play,

Hed wrangle the roadrunners at the end of the day.