Round up

Written by: Phyllis Babcock

In the early morning rain as the mist clings to the skin
A lone rider rides seeking out the cattle on the range
Miles upon miles of grassland to roam without his men
Seeking the herd before the roundup begins.

 This year has not seen the rains come down
So everything is like a dust bowl looking like desert
His men were waiting back at the local town
To see if the herd was ready for market.

Across the prairie a lonely coyote howls
As it sees the rider catering near
The riders face takes on a deadly scowl
Knowing the flock was very near.

He slowly takes out his rife and fires a shot
For one means many would be near by
In one deadly aim the coyote he got
Now the herd will be gathered in quick response.