The Last Grazing Ground: A Farewell to the Great Herds

The trail might be tough, but a cowboy always finds a way forward.

Amidst the plains where shadows play,

The last great herds have lost their way.

In whispers soft, the grasses sigh,

As fading hoofprints tell goodbye.

A lonesome rider, worn and grey,

Recalls the dust of yesterday.

With every breeze, he feels the tear,

For boundless skies, now drawing near.

The cattles call, a haunting tune,

Beneath the watchful, silver moon.

He rides the trails that once were bold,

Where tales of glory now grow cold.

Yet in his heart, a fire remains,

For open roads and wild terrains.

With final breaths of twilights breeze,

He bids farewell to earths decrees.