When the West Was Wild
It wasn’t the land that made cowboys—it was their untamed spirit.
In twilights glow the herd dog stands,
His watchful gaze across the lands.
With fur aglow neath a silver moon,
He whispers dreams that croon and boom.
The cattle low, a restless sound,
As shadows dance on hallowed ground.
He darts like smoke through tall prairie grass,
A silent guardian–swift and brash.
Through raging storms and blinding light,
The dog knows paths that seek the right.
With every bark, he calls the herd,
Their pulse, his heartbeat, unspoken word.
As dawn breaks clear, the world awakes,
The bond of cow and dog never shakes.
With each new day, the saga lives on,
In the heart of the plains, the herd dog’s song.
Copyright © 2024 Randy Salars
All rights reserved
All rights reserved