A Cattle Range At Night

The prairie zephyrs have dropped to rest,img_0140
And the dust-clouds settle down;
The sun dips low in the golden west,
O’er the mesa bare and brown.
The wearied riders come loping in,
As the hills grow dim and strange,
And the songs of the insect world begin–
‘Tis a night on a cattle range.

The stars gleam out in the calm, clear sky
Like twinkling orbs of light,
And over the range drifts the coyote’s cry
Through the star-lit summer night;
The night-hawk whirls in its ceaseless rush,
As the evening breeze is stirred,
And the cowboy’s song breaks the lonely hush,img_0151
As he circles the bedded herd.

The campfire throws but a fitful glare,
And the buttes, like specters, rise
Far over the deep arroyo there,
As sentinels in the skies.
While the silent forms in their blanket beds
Dream on, to the night wind’s sigh,
As gently about their sleeping heads,
The breeze drifts idly by.

The moon steals up o’er the dark butte’s crest
In silvery shafts, which gleam
And sparkle there on the brown earth’s breast
Like gems in a fairy dream.img_0081
The night creeps on, with its mystic charms,
To the song of the whip-poor-will,
And drifts to Dreamland in Nature’s arms,
And the range grows hushed and still.

E.A. Brininstool 1914


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s