Ghosts of the West

All the Pretty Horses –

it don’t matter none.

Just dust clouds on the wind –

the cowboys and their guns.

All the West was won,

the graves and ash to grind –

the child looks, but it don’t matter none.

All the Pretty Horses

have run their fated courses.

* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well–they’re a skilled bunch of poets, with a supportive and thriving community.