Cowboys
They ride the range with horse and gun
Their backs are bent, their heads held low;
Their faces burnished from the sun,
They travel with wild winds that blow.
They go so fast with rope lasso,
To catch a cow that lopes alone;
They search the sky and kiss the dew,
The great wide earth they call their home.
Around a campfire they all feast,
On beans and bread they share;
With stories to tell more than the least,
They make their camp just anywhere.
Throughout the night they tell their tales,
Of hopes and memories from back home;
They pitch their tent among the vales,
To rest their heads so sleep will come.
Man with horse cannot be tamed.
They do not follow the host of rules;
The lives they live cannot be framed,
For they scorn the life of quiet fools.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment