Under a Blood-Red Sky: The Harsh Beauty of Drought and Survival

Out here, every cowboy knows that fortune favors the bold.

Under a blood-red sky, the ground lay cracked,

The thirsty earth, a parched whispering ghost.

Where rivers once flowed, now silence stacked,

Survivals dance, a dangerous boast.

The cattle roam, their weary eyes dim,

In search of shade beneath the scorching blaze.

A cowboy™s pride, though worn to the brim,

Is tested strong in these harsh summer days.

With leather reins gripped tight in grit-stained hands,

He charts the vastness where no water flows.

Each sun-stunned mile, the thirst demands,

Yet strength blooms fierce where the wild wind blows.

So raise a toast to grit and spirits fight,

For life survives beneath the crimson sky.

In dust and shadow, dreams take flight,

In the heart of drought, where legends lie.