He pans for gold in the Black Hills of South Dakota
only his old mule Sal for company in his solitary  task
a bandana warring man with few needs in his capricious life
two shirts of broad cloth two pair of pants and an old moldy hat
gun by his side which he tells people he meets, she is his bride
most times kept pristine clean in his saddle pack for there is little need
simple meals of hard tack, rabbits  and beans with wild greens
prepared on an open fire washed down with water from the stream
His other pride and joy a old pair of boots bought long ago
they once were dark brown of color with an inlay of black
now scuffed and washed out to soft hues of beige and gray
one could see where they have dry multiple water stained rings
like aging  rings on a tree, telling it's life's history
the leather was once hard and stiff but from use and aging of time
have become soft as butter round his calf's where they touch
the cowboy though not old sports a full beard of gray and black
long hair down his back, skin on his face like old bark on a dried out tree
he sleeps under the sky in summer and a lean-to in autumn
laments the coming of winter when he has to  pull up stakes
leaving his beloved Black Hills and wide open space
to pass another winter as ranch hand to the modern day  man
nights he dreams of the sky of blue and sleeping under the stars
come spring he bids farewell to cars and smog and all it's ills
loads down Sal, off he goes to his once again to his beloved Hills