Tree branches don't sway here;
they bend
and wheeze
like an old man reaching for his toes,
creak, creak, creak.
Snap?
Tumbleweeds don't tumble here;
they fly...
until they bump into some friends hanging on the fence,
and then they hang too.
Their wives know they won't be coming home tonight,
or the next.
Mountains don't look majestic here;
they look old
and wise
as they smoke their pipes,
and blow 'O' ring clouds
high into the sky
and far, far over the horizon.
People don't exist here;
they live.
They help,
they hurt,
they love
Wyoming.
1 comment:
Well said! From someone who grew up here and has spent time in a few other places, It's pretty hard to beat Wyoming. Unique indeed.
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