The Trail
Sunlight is streaming through the tree limbs
A dancing wind rushes through the air
Two clomping horses mounted with riders
Gallop across a background so fair
Together they will face the trials
Of desert sun and freezing nights
Indian raids that just might come
When they least expect the fights
Cactus flowers brighten the trail
With pink and gold and orange
Colors seeming to draw them near
To the deserted landscape of scavengers
If a Indian crosses the plains
Making their way into view
The cowboys will fire a warning shot
To dissuade the onslaught of misconstrue
Hopefully, they will make it back home
Without losing a horse or a man
But will their bosses understand
When they arrive without their cowboy hands?
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