Poetry and Lyrics


A midnight cloud hides her silhouette. Edged in iridescent light, she threatens to flood the starless sky.

Alone, you stroll into the night where the late harvest moon ought be. Her shadows settle among the leafless elm. Enough light lingers to hunt, little remains to hide.

A breath caught, a heart shiver, a lone wolf howls from afar.  The plateau’s brittle grasses bend, snapping beneath your stride.

A gust pushes down the mountain, where warm air creates the night winds.

Her masked face will not be unveiled.

A near wolf drones in reply.

A twinkle burns through the quilted stratum, where her face should be.

A step taken among shadows of the meadow, the bending branches twitch and shiver, waiting for her to comfort.

The wolves sing their duet still nearer

A wind blows cold against bare flesh. A heavy mask lingers impenetrable to the heavy cloak of night, by the deceiving moon.

Locking the coons from the coop, the chickens are safe tonight. You race back to the warmth of your bed happy to have remembered the hens.



Love passed on from generation to generation like an antique, silver heirloom. This love is woven deep by the women who shaped, and continue to shape this land.

A land shaped by hands that endure the cold, sweat the sores from the dry Wyoming wind and wipe the tears from little faces. My mother’s hands: soft, gentle, scarred and blistered. Hands of grandmother’s milking cows, rocking countless babes through empty nights alone. The small, strong hands of Wyoming women, then and now, feeding the hungry, the growing and nursing the sick. These are the hands that drive the plow and the iron nail for a better life to follow. The hands that pray for the departed and plant the roses for tomorrow never rest.

Their love taught and given is evident in the beauty of these leathered hands.

Riches of: pearls and gems, of satin and silk, diamonds set in silver and gold never resonate Grace, until they are adorned by such callused hands as these.

Strong hands of a mother carry the weight, the burden of forever. These are the hands to comfort and nurture this love for the future of this West, Wyoming.



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