The Sagebrush’s Rustling Song: A Whisper of the West’s Wild Spirit

The West wasn’t won by luck—it was carved by determination and hard work.

In twilight™s glow, the sagebrush sways,

A whisper soft in the waning rays.

The echo of hooves on a dusty trail,

Guides the lone rider, bold and frail.

He hears the rustle, the spirits plea,

A dance of shadows beneath a tree.

The scent of leather, the crackle of fire,

Ignites his heart with wild desire.

The mountains loom, their secrets vast,

Each rugged peak holds echoes of the past.

With every gust, the sagebrush sings,

Of freedom found in the Wests wide wings.

As dawn breaks clear, with colors bold,

The cowboy rides through fields of gold.

For in the song of the whispering leaves,

Lives the spirit of the land he believes.