By Andrew R. Duckworth
There’s something about the barren lands,
Stretching from city’s edge to mountain top,
Patches of green only here and there,
Mostly burnt orange, dry clay and sands.
What a marvel to behold, those lands of gold,
Land barely touched by expansion,
Just the sun, the heat, the dry dirt at your feet,
And a view beyond comprehension.
I’ve traveled those trails a time or two,
Taking in nature’s unsullied view,
Beyond the city talk and walk,
Where the city folk like to gawk.
Those western lands capture my mind
Like a child seeing oceans for the first time,
And I’ll take my chances with that dry land
And the serenity that I’m sure to find.