A cold, chilly, Oklahoma morning on the range,

They’re out there, men in the saddle doing a job.

It’s their game but taken seriously, roundup,

The horses of many being gathered for home.

Anything can and will happen in a moments notice,

The sky is moving, dark clouds are moving.

There’s a breeze in the air slowly turning to wind,

Heading home are this bunch of cowboys, riding.

The rain begins to fall upon the land, keep moving,

These riders are a bit cold, tough is the thought.

Fright comes to this sea of horses as a rumble,

A clap of thunder echoes in the sky,

A bolt of lightning flies far and wide.

Like the wind, the horses run, “stampede”

Frantically they run until it’s done, stampede!

Keith Garrett



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