'In The Land Of Scorching Sun' Poem by Linda Winchell

In days of Poncho Via
while the West was being won.
Road the cowboy setting tall in the saddle
in the blistering heat, of a noon days desert sun.

Cactus pin sharp needles
scraping horses raw of hide.
Buzzards circling overhead
wating with, watchfull hungry eyes.

Bones bleaching in the sun
as they lay dried upon the desert sands.
Most of which, died of thirst while crossing
that unforgiving of Western land.

Men were tough and so were the times
people all trying to forge out a meager existence
on lands harshness, to eat and make a dime.

Wagons trails blazed by hearts and dreams
some died by Indians arrows
cicling encampments with their warring screams.

Train tracks laid by slanted eyed and black skinned men
taken and sold a dream of freedom
beaten and most died in the end.

Buffalo slautered to drive away
the Indian from lands they called home.
So more of what they called progress
just greed of mankind and greed alone.

Not much has really seemed to have changed
still powered by greed for land, war rages on.
Just men sitting on steel of horses now
in a land of sand and scorching sun.