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Cowboy Poetry
Impressions
Robert C. Atkin
Moonbeams creep through crevices
Casting about a soft blue glow
Webs form their intricate patterns
Shadows scamper to and fro
Musty scent of decaying wood
All covered in a layer of dust
The once majestic pot-bellied stove
Now surrenders it's lustre to rust
Weeping shreds of gunny
Hang in a window of shattered dreams
The swaying of a one hinged door
Breaks silence with its screams
A broken table and three-legged chair
Huddle in the corner of the room
A coil of rope adorns the wall
Emulating a wreath upon a tomb
Whispering words of those long passed
Permeate the inquisitive brain
Rejoicing of their triumphs
Bemoaning the times of pain
In growing light of newborn dawn
We look back and wonder still
Is this a place of mystic dreams ?
Or just an old bunkhouse on the hill.
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