Three long days of dust behind him,
at least that many more to go.
His job it is to ride the fences,
to bend the wire and mend the posts.
His trusty bay his lone companion
both day and night right by his side.
They’ve met the seasons with each other
both scorching sun and frost bit nights.
His head he tilts to block the sun
and angry winds that taunt his ride.
His brim he pulls to meet the sand,
that scars his face and blinds his eyes.
When the sun is setting low he
sets his camp by fires glow.
The earth below will be his bed
angelic stars will quilt his head.
His thoughts they drift to years
behind him, the choices made when
he was young. No regrets will find
his conscience. He’s grateful for the
life he’s won.
Another sunrise finds him mounted
ready to begin the day. For now the sun
is at his back, no wind or rain to cloud
He loses count of what he mended on his
journey east to west. He knows the
corner post will greet him; three more
lines until they rest.