The Rider

The Rider

 

The appalachian mountain, that stood high,

the sun lit, the pale hued, wild west sky.

The horse stopped, thirsty for a drink,

The rider, on the horse, to catch a wink.

 

Cowboy, he was, tall and strong,

adorned with tales of valour and wrong.

Herding cattle across distances that lay long,

with a whistle, a yell or a loud song.

 

waging battles along the way,

keeping herds from going astray,

to guard them from tribes, who held sway,

keeping danger and peril, all at bay.

 

Guns and lawlessness, abounded the land

understand, he must, a town, not planned.

Watchful as ever, at every step

for the traitor, the robber and the misstep.

 

He alighted, beside his horse,

having travelled through forests, meadows and prairies across.

His horse, needing feed and drink,

glanced at him, with a weary wink.

 

This was a minetown, he realized,

brawly and wild, not surprised.

At a distance, stood a tall tavern,

old and noisy, he could discern.

 

Rowdy gunmen, roamed the street,

girls and peddlers, ready to greet,

a cowboy’s paradise, they would say,

a watering hole, to end the day.