Erica Ledoux Poet I do not know?

The Lone Rider

A man sits on his horse on a lone hill
The only sound is a steady beat 
of the horses hooves on a lone trail
The two dusty faces stare 
down the path in the lone night
The thought of a warm drawn bath 
lingers in the cowboy's mind
His Job's done, the hands are gone, 
and he is a lone rider once again
The inns' are full leaving him 
no where to go and no where to stay
He rode up on that lone little hill 
and threw out his role
With a saddle for a pillow 
and a mat for a bed
He fell to hard ground as if he were dead
A lone tear roles down his cheek
On that lone little hill
Of the family he left back at the mill
Night is almost gone and day is almost here
He hears in the distance 
the sound of a lone deer
Tomorrow is the day that He will be home
And he will no longer have to roam

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