Starting with frontiers,
The trail of tears,
Tales of pioneers.
Fancy a land where beautiful skies abound,
God crowned, an Angels' lounge.
A romantic entrance to the West,
Heaven and skies gloriously at their best,
Panoramic views as nature's scenic spans crest.
A scenic marquee,
Where tall trees,
Greet the prairie breeze.
The early times, a time of chattel,
Long on cattle, short on prattle,
Long on outlaws, short on laws,
Long on tales, short on jails.
Then did grow,
Times fast, times slow.
People to and fro,
Highs and lows.
Had a land rush,
And, a dust bust,
Then, that oil did gush,
And gush, and gush.
That time left legacies of the plains,
Will and his reins,
Wiley and his planes,
Some Wills' and their Cain's,
Along the way an old trail became a road,
A romantically meandering road,
A spirit of lure it would hold.
A road described in tales told,
A road show'd in song and ode,
That "ribbon of highway" Woody told,
That be "The Mother Road".
A road thru scenery plentifully blessed,
Land and sky beautifully caressed,
Romance eternally possessed.
Going where the mistletoe hangs,
Turning where the scissor-tails sing,
Passing flowing fields of golden grains.
Once a trail for stage,
Crosses wafting fields of coral sage,
In a floral stage.
One only need turn a seasonal page,
To delight in showy fields of autumn sage.
As evening starts to show,
The sunset starts a warm glow,
A sky of soft hues flow.
Those who be still,
Will hear peaceful sounds spill,
O'er rolling hills,
Know the thrill of the whippoorwill,
As its melody fills the rills.
Yielding to the tapestry of night,
Catching another heavenly sight,
When a sky without light,
Brings stars to sight,
Stars so bright.
Now know all ye well,
As long as the pale,
Of early dawn shall swell,
What on this land does dwell,
This air smell,
Will forever fair well.