The Lonely Rockpile: A Graveyard of Stories Untold

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

Upon the plain where shadows cling,

The Lonely Rockpile stands alone,

A monument to lives long past,

In whispers, tales of cowboys’ groan.

The wind it howls through weathered stone,

Each grain of dust a storys breath,

Of dreams pursued and fortunes sought,

Out on the range where folks found death.

Beneath the stars, they gathered ‘round,

With laughter bright, their voices soar,

Yet echoes of their struggles linger,

In every crack, a ghostly score.

So ride you not in reckless haste,

For every stone has secrets bold,

The Lone Rockpile, a keeper grand,

Of stories left, forever told.