Cowboys, many of them, led a solitary life, and a lonely one. You've captured that feeling here, Albert, in all three of these. Playing it safe was often not really an option when you were made of cowboy stuff. Death was always right around the corner, as your second poem shows. Campfire Ballad was especially sad for me, I think because of the fact he chose not to fight for love. I understand that, but I wished he had... for my sake more than his. Stirring poetry, my friend. Thank you. Cheers!