The Cowboy

He rides across the wind-swept prairie,

His horse is brown, his gait is airy.

His hat upon his fair young head

Shadows the face of comely Ned.

 

The sky is dark on a stormy day

As he heads above the prairie hay.

The mountains loom like shadows tall,

As if to break before they fall.

 

He passes trees, tall and dark,

Mysterious as the morning lark.

The snow upon the top glistens,

Even as he will pause to listen.

 

The grass beneath him crunches aloud,

As the frost makes them appear cowed.

The stream is trickles

Through snow-fed ripples

As though it were afraid.

 

The cowboy climbs the plains up high

Before he reaches the top,

He turns around

Gives a shake of his hand,

And he glides away from sight.