| Errant grit burrows into bandana folds. | ||
| A lone cowboy wrangles down | ||
| distant thoughts too vacant | ||
| to be told | ||
| as he gazes over | ||
| a gently undulating horizon | ||
| speckled with bovine movement. | ||
| A simple pleasure awaits | ||
| over stamped steel plates | ||
| warm with overcooked stew | ||
| and a chunk of rough bread | ||
| to sop up juicy stories | ||
| and tomorrow's droving. | ||
| Dragged out and weary | ||
| he sidles up to a worn bedroll | ||
| to burn the breeze | ||
| in slumber's head. | ||
Friday, March 4, 2011
A COWBOY DREAMS
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