There's an old road that swings to the west,
Out from Lehi to Five Mile Pass,
Through sunflower fields,
That bloom every fall,
And through an ocean of prairie grass.
To most it's just another old highway,
Nothing special, nothing fit to explore.
But to those who would see
And would listen with heart,
Well, I swear it's an awful lot more!
Oh, I've driven that road, its length and its breadth,
More times than I even recall.
It wasn't that I needed to get there from here.
Guess I drove with no purpose at all.
Except that I go out to listen,
For Old State 7-3 has its song.
A sweet melody,
From each sagebrush and tree,
For the road's dying echoes I long.
I hear the lost hoof beats of ponies,
Of the Piutes who lived here, they say.
And Express riders rode,
Through the cedars and flats,
Lonely shadows, long lost to today.
And I can hear the drummed music of soldiers,
Come to keep a peace never in doubt.
In the end they all fled,
'Cept the ones that were dead,
To go fight for the North or the South.
Yes, I've traveled that trail, I've been there and back,
One hundred times, maybe it's two!
Just rambling along and enjoying the song,
And the time's all but lost in the view.
So these days it's the track of new drivers-
Trucks, cars, eighteen-wheelers and all.
Sometimes an old tractor,
Or a combine creeps by,
Slowing traffic to nearly a crawl.
And some say that it's all about progress,
As the neighborhoods creep steadily west.
Soon the pronghorn will be gone,
And the meadowlark's song,
And they'll argue that it's all for the best!
But for me, nothing's changed, I'll continue to roam,
Out from Lehi through the sagebrush. You see,
It will take a lot more than mere progress,
To destroy the road's magic for me.
To silence Old State 7-3.
The Buffalo Bill
They cared not for the future. They cared not for the past.
They cared not for tradition, and so, the die was cast.
They only thought of conquering the people, so they planned
To starve them to submission before they took a stand.
They hunted down the buffalo. They killed them for their hide.
They killed them just because they could, and millions of them died.
They killed them just for pleasure and never gave a thought
Tothe impact of their slaughter, and what their carnage wrought.
And, only now, we understand what the ancient people knew.
That, the One who made the buffalo, is the One who made us too.
The Creator had a reason. The Creator had a plan.
So that all things He created were for the good of man.
And the ancient ones remind us in their stories and their songs
That the buffalo kept man alive in times that have since gone.
The warnings of our ancestors today are coming true
They said you'll have to pay and now the Buffalo bill is due.
We must learn from our failures or the cycle will go on
And we will just eliminate what we depend upon.
So, be cautious of the earth and streams. Make sure the sky stays blue
Or the next things that may go extinct, my friend, are me and you.
—Jeff Hildebrandt, Englewood, Colo.
We Love 'Em
We love 'em, those fast, bad horses.
Like a drug, through our veins it courses.
We love 'em, more than our own health.
More than financial security or even wealth.
We love 'em; there's no known cure.
Our days are hay, grain, sawdust, and manure.
We love 'em, though few of us get rich.
We get broken bones, mangled joints, or an
unexplained twitch.
We love 'em and will follow them anywhere.
Have a meet in Blimp, Oklahoma, and we'll be there.
We love 'em, God knows it makes no sense.
What can I say to you in our humble defense?
We love 'em, what is this addictive need?
It's to find that “big hoss” with that blistering
burst of speed.
We love 'em, and watch each two-year-old lope.
We're watchin' to see “it” because a horseman has
nothing without hope.
We love 'em, and know we may never find that One.
So we keep doin' what we're doin' 'cause honestly
we're having fun.
We love 'emand we'll keep brushin', tackin', waterin',
and dumping feed.
Because we want to be a part of the beauty
And the awesome, awesome speed.
