In the frosted chill of the midnight
air
Sounds the echoing gallop of rider and mare
Nobody knows from where he came
This ghost of a cowboy who rides the range
Many have feared and run from his
path
But one night I dared to face him and ask
As the clock struck midnight, my eyes closed to pray
When they opened I saw him coming my way
I couldn't move, I was frozen in
time
The vision still branded in my mind
Of the land before man ruined with lust
by turning green pastures to concrete and dust
I felt his pain, understood his grief
for I know of his sorrows and share his beliefs
I read in the lines etched in his face
that sacred land is not meant to waste
So, if you're ever out walking after
twilights glow
And the midnight air becomes still and cold
And the land is quiet and all seems at rest
Then you see a figure coming from the west
Look past this cowboy's steely stare
For he's the spirit of truth, of love and prayer
He rides this land so we can forever know
The past that still lingers from long ago
Written by:
Tammy Gislason
© copyright, Sept. 2001
Tammy Gislason
Phone: (403) 391-1131
email: gislason@shaw.ca
http://www.tammydee.com