Lone Star

Lone Star

The night was bright with rhinestone stars.
The wind, it cut to bone.
He saddled up his cuttin' horse
To look for steers long gone.

He headed north into that wind,
His chin against his chest.
His saddle creaked an awful song.
His gelding wanted rest.

Its hooves clacked hard against the rocks.
Its nostrils flared with steam.
He clenched his fingers in his gloves
Though warmth was but a dream.

At last he saw them on the rise
Like ghosts against the sky.
Their breath trailed snakelike from their heads.
That wind, it burned like lye.

He got them home real late that night.
His cabin's windows shone.
He gave his thanks, turned out the light,
This Texas star, alone.

© Larry Thomas

This poem appeared previously in Cutting Horse Chatter, published by the National Cutting Horse Association.
Posted over on Cowboy Poetry