The cowboy’s sitar is a warmer, darker beige, which sits atop a birch trunk.
Handsome are his lovers; their skin the colour of his beloved instrument.
Even in despair he has someone in his bed,

Consoling his loneliest fears in platonic holds.
O, the merry days of young love,
Wringing in the newly weds,
Bringing home the bacon.
Only the cowboy thought to forge his own path.
You see,
Seclusion was a scare for the young buck,

Sitting alone under a prejudiced sky.
In love he set out for his calling;
Thinking of whom—and for who—he could make a fine husband.
Alas, amidst these broken records he calls his utopian visions,
Returns he, to his lover atop his birch trunk.