June 3, 2017


The cowboy lights his cigarette
and deep in silent thought
He questions how much sleep he'll get
with the sun and soil so hot.

The parched earth is ablaze,
and the stench of muck is sweet.
The oxen blindly stare and gaze
amidst the scorching heat.

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

It's evening now.
The coyotes howl,
and the sun begins to set.
The cowboy sighs and with his lamp
he 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