The Last Grazing Ground: A Farewell to a Vanishing Heritage

The Old West didn’t reward hesitation—it honored those who acted with purpose.

Upon the plains where wild grasses sway,

A cowboy rides beneath skies so gray.

The last grazing ground, his hearts solemn plea,

A farewell bittersweet, for all he will see.

With leathery hands, he wipes sweat from his brow,

As whispers of history echo somehow.

The hoofbeats of legends mingle with dust,

A vanishing heritage, he rides through the rust.

Nights velvet cloak wraps the vast frontier,

Stars blink like embers, memories draw near.

The crackle of fire, old tales in the air,

Of cattle and cowboys, their vigor, their care.

Yet shadows are lengthening on this fierce land,

As fences are rising, its spirit so spanned.

With a last wistful glance, he turns from the ground,

And rides into twilight, where hopes can be found.