Letter From The Range

Dearest Darlin', 

I'm at a lonely campfire here on the plains. The stocks been gathered, doesn't look like rain; so I just sit here by the fire and think of you. When I left back East to find my way, you promised me that you would never stray.

But waitin' on a broke an' busted cowboy is askin' a lot. It'll be five years now, come September and I own no more now than when I left Denver. Just a wore out saddle and this old horse named Dollar. And that ain't much to ask a girl to pin her hopes on. Oh I had dreams, we both did then, but I rode away follerin' the wind and now it seems it just about blowed me away.

But I hear your voice on every breeze, in the rippling water and the cottonwood trees. Like the brand on my horse, you will never, never go away. I see your beautiful face in my dreams each night, then I awake at early mornins' light and you're gone Then it's another dry day on this dusty trail.

I keep saying I'm comin' to find ya, but by now you've found someone new: A banker, a barber or maybe even a farmer, so I saddle up, and work the day through. Then at night when I pull off my boots, I have a cuppa coffee and think of you. I roll out my bedroll then lie lookin' at the moon and with every twinkling star, I think about you. Then with a tear in my eye, I fall asleep one more time.