The Rustling of the Herd: The Music of Life on the Range

In the Old West, your word was your bond, and respect was earned the hard way.

morning breaks with whispered calls,

As hooves drum loud on dust-laden trails.

The herdsmen ride where the tall grass sprawls,

Their laughter mingles with wind-swept gales.

The sun hangs low, a fiery brand,

While shadows dance on the canyon’s face.

With ropes in hand, they steer and strand,

In concert with the wild, open space.

At dusk, the campfire crackles bright,

While stories weave through the flickers gleam.

The music of life, a soothing sight,

In every heart beats the Western dream.

As stars emerge, a blanket of gold,

They drift to sleep ‘neath the vast, deep skies.

In rustling herds, their spirits hold,

The harmony of freedom that never dies.