Beneath the white-hot New Mexico sun,
A desert cowboy rode, known to every single one.
From dawn till dusk, in scorching heat’s demand,
Invented crafty ways to make his sun-beaten stand.

With his broad sombrero and a kerchief cool and damp,
At twilight’s crest, he would set his cozy camp.
The searing desert sand, fierce as a heated griddle,
In its midst, he’d sit, musing life’s riddle.

In thorny cacti thickets, he sought his thirst’s reprieve,
With earnest sweat and hope, a miracle to achieve.
Fetching from the prickly pear, with a laugh so free,
A refreshing surge, his personal desert sea.

In the shade of the mesquite, he carved his niche,
Dodging the sun’s flaming pitch.
Chuckling at the sun with a jester’s play,
“Is that all you’ve got?” he’d boldly say.

Clad in his leather chaps, he braced the sun’s fierce turn,
From his cooling capers, he’d never adjourn.
With his gritty resolve and peculiar resolution,
He challenged the desert blaze, his personal revolution.

Replicating across the barren desert, his gleeful song,
The cooling capers of the old cowboy echoed along.
Beneath the remorseless sun and a radiant sky,
His improvised oasis, no passerby could deny.

Every scorching gust that kissed his weathered face,
Met the brim of his hat, a silent, cooling embrace.
For he tamed the furious sun, with each passing time,
With his whimsical antiques, gracefully woven in rhyme.

His wild remedies may seem a touch deranged,
Yet, they transformed his desert, his serene range.
Under the southwest’s celestial bodies afar,
Resounds the tale of the desert cowboy, his cooling memoir.