The Rusted Bit: A Relic of Hard Work and Perseverance

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

In sunlit fields where cattle roam,

A rusted bit finds its place, its home.

Once bright and true, it held the reins,

Now whispers tales of toil and strains.

Through sweat and dust, it stood the test,

On calloused hands, it formed a nest.

With leather worn and spirits high,

It bridged the heart to the open sky.

Beneath the stars, where legends stand,

The echoes of a cowboys band.

A silent vow in every grind,

Of grinding work and dreams aligned.

Now with each dawn, as the cows are called,

That rusted bit, though aged, enthralled.

A relic speaks of paths once trod,

In its quiet grace, the spirit of God.