The Plainsman’s Cross: The Burden of Faith and Duty in the West

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

Beneath the weight of endless skies,

A cross stands firm where silence lies.

With weary hands, the plainsman prays,

For hope to guide him through the haze.

His steed, a shadow, swift and lean,

Gallops across the landscapes green.

Each dawn, a testament to toil,

In faith and duty finds his soil.

The storms may rage, the rivers swell,

But deep within, a fire swells.

For every trial, his spirits gain,

Each scar a story etched in pain.

As twilight steals the suns embrace,

He looks upon that sacred place.

With every star, his burden shared,

A plainsmans heart, forever bared.