The bugle calls,

The bugle cries.

I know it’s time

To wake my eyes.

The teams await

Their breakfast pail.

All must be fed

When we start on the trail.

The wheels turn,

The wheels squeak.

The blistering sun

Colors red my cheeks.

The dusty road

Stretches out to the sky.

We sing as we walk

To make time go by.

The wheels turn,

The wheels squeak.

I cool my warm toes

In the icy creek.

The wagons circle

For the coming night.

I build a large fire

For warmth and light.

The bugle calls,

The bugle cries.

I kneel in prayer,

Then rest my eyes.

Illustrated by Mark Robison