The Lone Cowboy
Beneath the amber, sinking sun,
A cowboy’s work is never done.
His shadow long, his stride is slow,
Through dust and sage, where wild winds blow.
His boots are worn, his hat sits low,
A thousand trails his soul does know.
The prairie hums its ancient tune,
A song of stars and silver moon.
The cattle call, the coyotes cry,
The echoed whispers of the sky.
Yet in his heart, a fire stays,
To ride the land 'til end of days.
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