A campfire story about a ghostly cowpoke who haunts an abandoned ghost town, but all he does is misplace his spurs

A cowboy learns to face the winds with grit and a song in his heart.

Beneath the moon in a ghost town’s hush,

Where tumbleweeds whisper and shadows rush,

A campfire flickers, tales rise and play,

Of a spectral cowpoke who’s lost his way.

Once a proud rider, swift as the breeze,

Now clanging spurs float upon the tease.

At sunset he moans, “Where have they gone?”

Those silver-bright trinkets, now lost at dawn.

Through dusty saloons where no voices dwell,

He searches for echoes, his heart in a swell.

With a laugh that echoes, a ghostly jest,

He stumbles on trails, never finds rest.

So heed this story as embers dance bright,

In the chill of the night and the waning light.

A cowboy may wander with spirit unfurled,

But its missing his spurs that haunts his old world.