The Spirit of the Wild West
The West wasn’t won by luck—it was carved by determination and hard work.
Upon the trail where dust storms churn,
The whispers of the lost still burn.
With every echo, their stories claim,
The heart of wild, the Trail of Names.
Beneath the oaks, where shadows blend,
A mossy stone marks where they wend.
The leathered boots and weathered hands,
Have carved their marks on these vast lands.
The prairies breath, a haunting sigh,
Calls forth the spirits who ride the sky.
Each campfires crack, a tale unfolds,
Of courage bold and hearts of gold.
So let us raise a glass tonight,
For those who braved the darkest night.
Their trails now dimmed, yet never cease,
In every rider, lives their peace.
Copyright © 2024 Randy Salars
All rights reserved
All rights reserved