My Campfire

My horse is grazing on the grass

That stretches from the mountain pass

Through which we came clear to the far

Horizon, where it meets a star.

My campfire.

My blanket’s laid out straight and flat

Behind me where I put my hat

And gun belt, carbine, saddle, too.

No featherbed, but it’ll do.

My campfire.

The night is still; there is no breeze

My cheek to kiss, my hair to tease.

No wind to blow or bend out some

The wisp of smoke that rises from

My campfire.

The beans were good, I guess I’ll say.

As good as beans can be today.

The sauce was thick, the coffee thin,

The bread so hard I dropped it in

My campfire.

I’m sitting on the ground so near

The fire that I might burn or sear

The backs of hands or even face,

But I won’t shift or move my place.

My campfire.

I like the heat, the light so bright,

It hurts my eyes to stare all night

Into the flames that lick and curl

Below the smoke, and leap and swirl.

My campfire.

Although there’s no one here with me,

At least no humans you can see,

A lone coyote howls to tell

Me that the prairie’s safe, all’s well.

My campfire.

The fire’s a link to ages past,

The future, present, time so vast.

A dot of light in inky black,

That nightly holds and takes me back.

My campfire.

The silence let’s me think and view

The world without the noise and hue

And cry of people, conflict, war,

And makes me cherish all the more

My campfire.

But dawn will come before I know,

And rest I need, so off I’ll go

To bed, to follow all my rules,

To calmly sleep while slowly cools

My campfire.