Underneath the wide brimmed hat, Sits a man where the tumbleweeds roam, With a heart as vast as the prairie flat, And a spirit that calls the West his home. He rides with the dawn, his horse and he, Through canyons of rust where the echoes play, and cactus bloom, Chasing the dreams that are wild and free, Under the endless, starlit sky. His spurs jingle with every step, A melody of freedom, wild and true, He's a poet of the plains, a sage of the steppe, and a gunslinger of olde, With stories as old as the hills. He sings of love lost to the wind's cruel jest, Of cattle drives and the lonesome trail, Of nights by the fire, where he found rest, And the coyote's howl, a mournful wail. So here's to the cowboy, six gun packin, with his lariat and song, To the life he chose, so rugged and bold, May his legend live long, may his spirit belong, To the vast, untamed stories the West wild and free.
GC Stevens
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