Golden Grass, Crimson Sky: The Majestic End of a Hard Day

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

In fields where golden grass does sway,

The weary cowboy ends his day.

With dust on boots and leather worn,

He breathes in peace, the night is born.

Beneath a sky of crimson hue,

He mounts his steed, a bond thats true.

The sun dips low, the windsong sighs,

As whispers of the prairie rise.

Around the campfire, shadows dance,

With crackling flames, a fierce romance.

Stories of rustlers and rogues delight,

Echo through timeless starry night.

So here he rests, on twilight™s crest,

With dreams of trails, he™ll never rest.

For in the heart of countless foes,

A cowboys spirit ever flows.