The Call of the Open Range
The wild west wasn’t tamed by sitting still—it took courage to follow the horizon.
Beneath the canopy of stars so bright,
The chuckwagon whirls in the soft moonlight.
With laughter bubbling from pots all around,
They jiggle and jive to the campfires sound.
The beans, they bop in a frothy embrace,
While spuds spin ‘round with a merry face.
Lids pop and wink with a playful surprise,
As cowboys chuckle neath the ink-black skies.
Porridge pirouettes, a creamy delight,
As cornbread hops, what a glorious sight!
Each pot a partner in this jovial dance,
Stirring up mirth with a playful glance.
When morning breaks and the fires burn low,
The pots, they rest from their evening show.
But come dusk again, under twilight’s embrace,
The chuckwagons pots will resume their chase.
Copyright © 2024 Randy Salars
All rights reserved
All rights reserved