The Last Bale of Hay: The Closing Chapter of a Harsh Winter

Out here, every cowboy knows that fortune favors the bold.

In the barn™s dim light, a shadow looms,

The last bale of hay, where silence blooms.

Winters grip fades in a hopeful sigh,

As cattle nuzzle near, their hunger nigh.

Frosted breath drifts on a biting breeze,

While the cowboy stands, worn gloves on knees.

His heart recalls the storms that lashed the plains,

Yet here in this moment, he feels the gains.

With a steady hand, he clears the way,

Grains of straw shimmer like gold in the hay.

The horses whicker soft, their patience tried,

As the last of the harvest rests by their side.

When springtime whispers to the budding earth,

And wildflowers bloom, celebrating rebirth,

The cowboy rides forth, his spirit unbound,

In the warmth of the sun, his freedom found.