This “God-forsaken land,” they call it,
As they gaze with pitying eye,
“Nothing here but sand and sagebrush,
And a vast expanse of sky.”
–
“We don’t know how you stand it,”
These city folks declare,
“How do you make a living –
Or do you live on air?”
–
We could tell them of our ranches,
Where the great herds of cattle roam,
Or of the flocks of woolies
That claim Wyoming for their home.
–
We could show them our oil wells,
That pour forth liquid gold,
And in these places they call “barren,”
There’s deep, rich veins of coal.
–
They may not see our fertile valleys,
With their fields of hay and grain,
But nestling there among the hills,
We have them – just the same.
–
This “loneliness” they talk about,
To us is God’s own peace.
There’s so much beauty all around,
Our thanks shall never cease.
–
Our streams are full of rainbow trout,
We’ve antelope and elk and deer,
We’re a mile up nearer Heaven,
And the air is pure and clear.
–
Our sunsets glow with color,
And in the pearly dawn of morn
The pungent scent sage drifts down
On a breeze that’s mountain-born.
–
If they only lived here for a while
Those folks would understand
Why we only smile at them
About this “God-forsaken Land.”
–
We don’t know much of city life
Or where they seek God there,
But we do know in Wyoming
That we find Him everywhere.
–
So we’ll leave them the cities
Where the living is so grand.
And we’ll stay in Wyoming
In our God-Beloved Land.
– Juanita M. Leach
Thoughts on the Edge of Forever 