Cowboys of Yesteryears
The cowboys' farm is never free from till
Their order is communicated through the whip
To the horses that pull the plough
Yes! Their whips are long and dreadful
It reached them from every side
They scamper at the sound of their voice
It is heard like the sound of a wolf
In the ‘fool moon’
They hide their shriveled mind
Under the pelt scarred by the whip
As their voice ring back in trembling tone
They're overturned by a mightier force
A saviour they thought
A despot he turned out
He was born, nourished and suffered alike
He turned the table round, with fiercely strength
And snatch them from their masters
But on their backs he also rode
A bigger whip he raised
The bruises remain and the pain never left.
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