The Cry of the Eagle: A Song of Freedom Over the Western Plains

It wasn’t the land that made cowboys—it was their untamed spirit.

Upon the heights where eagles soar,

A rugged land laid bare and raw,

With winds that howl and skies so wide,

The cry of freedom stirs my pride.

The prairie grass, a sea of green,

Where horse and rider meld as one,

Each hoofbeat drums a tale unseen,

Of battles fought beneath the sun.

The mountains stand like sentinels,

Their granite peaks, both fierce and bold,

While whispers of the past resound,

In every tale that™s bravely told.

As dusk descends, the stars ignite,

A tapestry of dreams in flight.

With every call of night™s embrace,

I find my freedom, my own place.