Somewhere in Old Wyoming

Somewhere in Old Wyoming

I take my pen in hand

And gaze at high, snow-capped mountains

That encircle our corner of this land.

Some folks call us so unlucky

To live so far from town,

But do they know the beauty of stillness in the mountains as 

The sun goes down?

Picnics beside a sparkling stream walking under a fragrant 

Pine, 

Fishing and hunting, both if you like,

Or just exploring to pass the time.

In winter it’s skiing and sleighing

Down hills of purest white,

The glow of youngsters as they play

Then the peace of a winter night.  

It seems to me we have more time 

In such a nature’s wonderland

To “be still” and know that God still rules

The earth with a loving hand.  

This week we buried a family friend who died way too young. The above poem was recited by her sisters at her “celebration of life.” It was written by the women’s mother, Pauline Kruse, in July of 1958. 

In a footnote the sisters wrote, “Mom entered this poem in a Colorado radio contest called ‘Time to Rhyme,’ and when she won, the poem was read on the air, and mom received a box of chocolates! Mom was thrilled.”

It was a favorite poem of our deceased friend, as well as a favorite of this writer.

“Happy Trails,” Rita.