By Andrew R. Duckworth
Desert clay by a patch of green
And a painted sky of blue.
The air here smells of liberty
And values bold and true.
People here still open doors
For neighbors passing through,
And give a wave to unknown folk,
No matter if they’re rich or broke.
Hill and canyon by rolling pasture,
Cityscape by cityscape.
Wild ones ride the range,
Those dusty trails near hay bales.
Freedom and beer when the skies are clear,
Freedom for miles in the blue bonnet wilds,
Freedom on the plains or the rugged terrain,
Freedom of mind that we don’t leave behind,