Ghosts of the Roundup: Echoes of Cowboys Past

The trail might be tough, but a cowboy always finds a way forward.

In the dusk where the prairie whispers low,

Ghosts of cowboys greet the afterglow.

With leather creased by the winds of time,

They ride the shadows, in rhythm and rhyme.

Cattle roam where the wildflowers sway,

Echoes of laughter from times gone astray.

The crack of a whip, a song on the breeze,

They dance with the spirits, beneath ancient trees.

Under the stars where the coyotes wail,

Tales of the brave weave a haunting tale.

Each hoofbeat stirs up the dust of the past,

Reminders of hearts that refused to be cast.

As the moon climbs high, painting hills in white,

The ghosts of the roundup return for the night.

In the glow of the fire, their stories ignite,

A legacy carried by the soft, silver light.