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the dust blows across the dirt

leaving specks of land on her petticoat dress

she stands alone and lonely

in a group of suitors and dames

her expression is one of youth and death

he rides by and she dreams of his touch

a glimmer of hope reaches out to him

as he passes on his patchwork horse.

as he turns towards her, she does not glance away

she is only 'seemingly' innocent he thinks

as he stares into her eyes of green

he reminisces of her words that night in the dark

when stolen moments were actually seconds

and she told him of her heart and mind

and that they would forsake approval to be his

the sound of spurs wake him from his dream.

she sees mayor and sheriff strut down the street

she will not be owned or used by him for his advancement

not even he knows what has been done in the name

of gaining a foothold in this dustbowl of saloons and proprioty ..

she cares not about the hushed disapproval

she cares only for the small house in the meadow

that she hopes that someday they will call their own.

he watches the turn of events between daughter and mayor

and knows that someday she will try prevent him

from defending her honor, but he will do it all the same

he remembers the night preceding the current

how she stole away from her bedroom window

to meet him the backwoods under a starlit sky

the way she howled in freedom and in his arms.

the bridge where they first met

comes into view and she watches him pass through

he is off to drive the ranchers cattle

she thinks of each barn he will pass with envy

each field of grain that will wave to him as he rides by

the hills that seem to sway with the wind give her ease

that she will be by his side again.

so many afternoons spent in the fields and trees

hiding from eyes and ears that would poke and prod

she loves it when he chases her but he always gives her a headstart

and begs her to be careful of going to far

but she as is always his minx

persuading with song that which she can get out of him

and always making up for the distance when he is gone.

so much time yet to be together

and their minds hinge on one night

they lay in the tall grass near the creek

she spoke with the light wind and asked him,

"do you know how i knew you were the one?"

he had fathomed a guess but knew that she was singular

to her things were seen differently

"when you let me run."

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Comment by Art Zocalo on September 8, 2010 at 9:16pm
Thanks Sara for your western Love tale, good job!

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