The Last Grazing Ground: A Farewell to the Great Herds

A cowboy’s trust in his horse is as deep as the canyons they ride.

Amidst the plains where shadows play,

The last great herds have lost their way.

In whispers soft, the grasses sigh,

As fading hoofprints tell goodbye.

A lonesome rider, worn and grey,

Recalls the dust of yesterday.

With every breeze, he feels the tear,

For boundless skies, now drawing near.

The cattles call, a haunting tune,

Beneath the watchful, silver moon.

He rides the trails that once were bold,

Where tales of glory now grow cold.

Yet in his heart, a fire remains,

For open roads and wild terrains.

With final breaths of twilights breeze,

He bids farewell to earths decrees.