In the pages of time, their tales unfold,
Five scribes of the West, courageous and bold.
Mark Twain, with wit as sharp as a spur,
Spun yarns of Tom and Huck, adventures that stir.
Jack London, he roamed the wild and the free,
With Yukon’s call, he found destiny.
Through White Fang’s eyes, he saw nature’s fierce might,
And penned tales of survival, deep in the night.
Laura Ingalls Wilder, her words softly sung,
Of prairie winds howling, where pioneers clung.
A tapestry woven of cabins and kin,
She shared frontier life, where the heartache begins.
Will James, the artist, his brush told the tale,
Of cowboys and broncs, and a life on the trail.
With Smoky the Horse, he painted the West,
A love for the land, in every brush’s caress.
Louis L’Amour, with a heart made of leather,
His words painted deserts, where cacti stand tethered.
From Sackett to Talon, his cowboys rode tall,
In the wild, rugged West, they answered the call.
These five, they penned stories, as wide as the plain,
Their words like a lasso, capturing the strain,
Of a nation’s bold spirit, its trials and grace,
In the tales they left behind, a timeless embrace.
So here’s to these authors, these storytellers of old,
Whose words still ride free, like the sunset’s gold.
In the heart of the West, their stories live on,
In the souls of us all, from dusk until dawn.
The Old Blog in the Desert 