Gone are the moonlight riders,
Cowboys geared for prairie work-
Wearing boots that seldom shined,
Hats that four winds couldn’t budge.
Lost are the sounds of spurs a-jangle,
Cow-town saloons lighting the night,
Whiskey, cards, & Buffalo Gals
Wiling away the mirage of black velvet.
Forgotten are the bravehearts,
Their swagger now tempered with canes.
No longer the Kings of the range,
Faded into the backpages of old books.
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