June 3, 2017


The cowboy lights a cigarette
and deep in silent thought
he wonders how much sleep he'll get,
the sun and soil so hot.

The parched earth is ablaze
and the stench of muck is sweet.
The oxen blindly stare and graze
amid the scorching heat.

The horses stomp their angry feet.
The cowboy wipes his sweat.
He hears the cattle's heavy beat
and puffs the cigarette.

It's evening now.
The coyotes howl.
The sun begins to set.
The cowboy sighs and takes his lamp
and lights another cigarette.

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I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
- Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam