Good Times - 9. Chapter 9

The Cowboy’s Burden

Love is the cowboy, weary and lone, A drifting heart, a saddle of stone. Under the stars, where silence hums, He dreams of him, but he never comes.

The prairie whispers in the dead of night, A song of longing, the soft moonlight. Each canyon echoes his lover’s name, A shadowed yearning he cannot tame.

His hands are rough, his spirit worn, By lonesome trails and spurs well torn. Yet in his chest, a fire still burns, for love is the lesson, the world never learns.

He recalls eyes like the sky at dawn, A gaze so tender, so easily gone. A voice like rivers, steady and deep, A solace that lingers, awake or in sleep.

Strong and kind, his lover stood, A soul as wild as the deep redwood. With laughter that danced, like a warm summer rain, A fleeting joy that eases the pain.

By campfire’s glow, his thoughts run wild, Of a fleeting grin, of a voice so mild. The ghost of a touch, the warmth of a glance, A lifetime of miles, a fleeting chance.

Through desert winds and canyon’s cry, His hope rides higher than the boundless sky. For even cowboys, hardened and free, Carry love’s burden like destiny.

The open range, his eternal stage, where love writes the script but turns no page. Still, he rides on, beneath the stars’ embrace, Searching forever for his lover’s face.

Rider and Steed

Beneath the endless, painted sky, where winds whisper and hawks do fly, there rides a cowboy, rugged and true, Bound to Silver wind like morning to dew.

Through storm and sun, through dust and flame, He calls his horse by a cherished name. Not just a beast, but a steadfast friend, A bond unbroken, until journey’s end.

The thunder of hooves on the open plain echoes a rhythm they both sustain. With every step, through trail or trial, silver wind's strength makes the miles worthwhile.

By campfire’s glow or canyon’s shade, their trust is forged and never swayed. The cowboy hums as he strokes the mane, A soothing hymn that eases pain.

For in those eyes, so steady and wise, the cowboy sees where his freedom lies. No words are needed, no reins to steer, silver wind's heart speaks a language clear.

And when the day fades to twilight’s gleam, He dreams of rides in a shared, quiet dream. For the love he bears for his four-legged mate, is a love that's woven with the threads of fate.

The Herd and the Hand

Beneath the sun's relentless glare, A cowboy rides with patient care. His calloused hands, his steady reign, Guide the cattle across the plain.

The lowing herd, a moving tide, Across the wide expanse they stride. Each beast a soul, with strength to spare, yet bound together by his stare.

Through morning mist and twilight hues, He sings a song the cattle choose. A melody of trust and will, that calms the restless, keeps them still.

But when the clouds churn dark with might, and shadows drown the coming night, A thunder crash splits wide the air, As nature roars, both wild and bare.

The herd recoils, their eyes flash bright, Fear dances fierce in the storm’s cold light. The cowboy steadies, his voice rings clear, A calming strength for all to hear.

The dust clouds rise, the heat runs high, the trail is long, the rivers dry. Yet through it all, his heart is tied, To the beasts that walk by his side.

And as the stars begin to gleam, He sits and dreams a cowboy's dream: To hear the cattle's gentle sound, forever moving, forever bound.