Jell0shotz
Member
I wrote this awhile back. For Mamaw. 
Through the shrub and brittle prairie,
where the wind knows not a name,
rides a man with silent sorrow,
never seeking love or fame.
Boots worn, his heart much older,
trails of dust stretch out behind,
every friend a fleeting memory,
every loss cemented in time.
Slow-fire at day's departing,
shadows long on dreary land,
the river calls, but he keeps moving,
fate still lying in his hand.
There's no place he calls his haven,
no soft bed nor candle's glow,
only stars and untamed thunder,
The roads he'll only know.
Through the shrub and brittle prairie,
where the wind knows not a name,
rides a man with silent sorrow,
never seeking love or fame.
Boots worn, his heart much older,
trails of dust stretch out behind,
every friend a fleeting memory,
every loss cemented in time.
Slow-fire at day's departing,
shadows long on dreary land,
the river calls, but he keeps moving,
fate still lying in his hand.
There's no place he calls his haven,
no soft bed nor candle's glow,
only stars and untamed thunder,
The roads he'll only know.
