Cowboy Poetry

for Harry Reid

Grabbing reins he forcibly turns its head,
Into the gloaming, vainly chasing the light.
"This is the way, the right path," he said,
But saw none follow him into the night.

They had ridden too many miles that day,
The quiet plains now gave refuge to rest.
Not satisfied by his ability to sway,
He challenged the riders to do better than their best.

But their best was exactly what each had given,
Knowing the trail and how hard he should ride:
Pace and prepare. Whole herds must be driven.
They knew their work -- it was theirs to decide.

Under stars they ate, above all they were true.
But deaf to reason, he'd shown his gun and said,
"I am the law. I know better than you."
"For the good of all! Do it now, or you're dead."

And that is why, sometimes, in the moon's low light,
Winds blowing hard from the east -- it's then --
A herd of horses crossing the plains at night,
Can be seen wearing saddles -- but no men.