Tripods stand by tourists fanned across the valley floor,
A thousand shots in color, lots of orange and grey, and more.
(That is, unless, the sky won’t bless them with a cloudless day,)
The crowds look up and try their luck, for fire falls they pray.
Yosemite is fine to me, I’ll trek to Yellowstone,
Each park is grand, these wondrous lands are deservedly well-known.
Though swarmed by hoards of travelers, bored, we wait in miles of cars,
I’m glad I know the golden glow of sunsets lighting parks.
But have you seen the silver gleam of pools reflected light,
Dancing on a doe and fawn who never know your sight?
Among the stones and fields unknown, a fluttering of quails,
Have you heard the calling birds that sing on nameless trails?
Have you run in rising sun and held the rocks unturned?
This land is mine, and yours, from rhine to blackened forests burned.
The vast expanse and bold romance of the wild and free west
Out there awaits, beyond cow gates, with miles are we blessed.
Without a name or worldwide fame, alone I can meander.
No signs, no shops, vacant hilltops, a private, hidden grandeur.
Go and see the copse of trees, the unadvertised cattails,
Near you and know, the golden glow of sun on nameless trails.