Tumbleweeds ease by,
as daylight draws dim,
the evening breeze weakening,
in the oil fields of the west.

The pump jacks speak,
as the flares burn,
igniting excess fumes,
and lighting the night as if day.

Jackrabbits wander and roam,
as rattlesnakes slither into dens,
the occasional bat swoops by,
trying to dodge the Nighthawks.

The oil trucks never stop,
the back roads ever busy,
a covey of blue quail
take it all in stride.