Clouds cover the moon so that only
A soft glow indicates its presence.
Snow flies down the hillsides, and
Across the neckerchief faces
Of the saddle weary cowboys.
The snow builds on the outer brim of their hats
And then falls like tiny avalanches,
As they turn their heads,
Looking for any dangers to the herd.
The cattle are calm and contented
In the quiet of the night.
Snow muffles the sounds of the milling herd,
And the occasional call of "get back there now."
Harold Grady's fine baritone can be gently heard
As he sings over the wind to the mass of steers.
All is well this winters eve,
As the cowboys on their steady mounts,
Keep the drovers midnight watch.
KL Dennie July 2012
