When the West Was Wild
It wasn’t the land that made cowboys—it was their untamed spirit.
On cursed trails where silence reigns,
The wind brings whispers through the plains.
A letter carried, crisp and worn,
Of love and loss, both deep and torn.
Beneath the arch of endless skies,
A cowboy dreams as daylight dies.
With rugged hands, he holds the note,
And watches all the hopes it wrote.
Through storms that howl and night’s embrace,
His spirit rides to find that place.
For every word, each sigh and laugh,
Is boundless like the prairie’s path.
So when the dawn ignites the glow,
He’ll chase those letters with the flow.
For in the wind, they find their way,
A promise made from night to day.
Copyright © 2024 Randy Salars
All rights reserved
All rights reserved