The Meadow’s Final Rays: A Day’s Farewell on the Open Plains

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

sun dips low, the prairie sighs,

With whispers soft beneath vast skies.

The golden hues on grasses sway,

As night unveils the close of day.

A lone coyote calls his tune,

While shadows dance neath crescent moon.

Each hoofbeat stirs the quiet air,

A cowboys heart, beyond compare.

With leather worn and eyes of fire,

He seeks the stars, the wild, the higher.

The world unfurls, a canvas wide,

Where dreams and dust together ride.

As twilight claims the final light,

They journey forth into the night.

In every trod, a tale reclaimed,

The meadows farewell, forever named.