Round the desert fire, under a New Mexico sky,
Gathered were cowboys, their spirits held high,
Their faces aglow, in the crackling light,
Telling tales of bravado, deep into the night.
Old Handsome Harry, with a mustache grand,
A drawl as smooth, as the desert sand,
Spoke of a day, in the wild buffalo chase,
He'd outrun the wind, set a thunderous pace.
“Caught that beast by the tail,” he'd boast,
“As sure as I stand, no idle toast,
Threw him down, ‘fore the setting sun,
With just my bare hands, the deed was done.”
Then Lonesome Larry, a twinkle in his eye,
Threw back his head, let out a sigh,
“Harry, your tale is good, no doubt,
But let me tell y'all, what I'm about.”
“See this scar, this mark of pride?
Faced a rattler, no place to hide,
With just my wit, and my lasso thin,
I bested the beast, took him for a spin.”
The fire crackled, the embers flew,
As each cowboy, tale grew and grew,
Laughter echoed, under the moon's glow,
As fact and fiction, began to flow.
Then Silent Sue, the cowgirl bold,
Sat up straight, her story to be told,
“Cowboys, you've had your fun, it's true,
But none of y'all got a tale like Sue.”
“Rode a wild bronco, into a storm,
Thunder roared, took the sky by swarm,
But I held on, with a grin so sly,
Rode out the tempest, under the stormy sky.”
The tales spun on, each taller than the last,
Echoing with the laughter, of days long past,
Around the desert fire, under the stars' gleam,
Cowboys and cowgirls, weaving the dream.
In Southwest New Mexico, when the day retires,
And the sky is ablaze, with sunset's fires,
Gather round, friend, lend an ear,
For the tales from the desert fire, you'll want to hear.
