An Empty Place By the Campfire

There’s an empty place by the campfire That no one had noticed before— Once filled with poems and old stories About the Old West and its lore. I can still hear the tin cups clanking, The soft sipping of the hot joe— All the tunes of the old Chisholm Trail— Things only a cowboy would know. The fire’s warm but somehow we’re still cold, By what’s gone from our fire and heart— We know the loneliness soon leaves us— All the things of this earth will part. But now all our voices are hollow And there’s a void left by the flame— New riders will soon fill that old place, But somehow it won’t be the same. There’s an empty place by the campfire And all of us know that it’s there— We know that ours will be empty, too, When there’s no more stories to share.