The following three poems are taken from his self-published book,
Now I had always lived alone, it was a drab and lonely life,
so I set out awhile back, to find myself a wife.
I took off on foot, across the miles of countryside,
in hopes that I'd get lucky, and find myself a bride.
And after weeks of travel, I stopped once to ask for water,
and this old feller in the hills, introduced me to his daughter.
I knew this was my journey's end, when I seen this mountain lass,
she far exceeded all my dreams, this woman was first class.
So I stayed on about a week, then I asked him for her hand,
and when I've finished with my story, I'm sure you'll understand.
She had a great big bald spot, on top of her scaley head,
and her ears stuck out like fan blades, and her nose was cherry red.
Her knees were big and boney, with long and hairy legs,
and her calves were short and stubby, and resembled nail kegs.
Now her eyes ain't really crossed, as you might have heard it said,
actually only one is crossed , and one looks straight ahead.
And her teeth ain't really bucked, as you'll hear from everyone,
for as you can see each time she growls, it's just every other one.
Now she has got the longest tongue that ever filled a face,
she don't pluck her bushy eyebrows, she just licks them into place.
Her arms are like a wrestlers, and her chest is round and full,
with a head just like a bulldog, and a neck like a Jersey bull.
Now her cheek is always bulging, it's clear filled up with snoose,
and she can nail a fly at fifteen feet, when she spits tobacco juice.
I don't know where she buys her clothes, I'm not up on that score,
but I know she gets her size twelve boots, from an army surplus store.
I've watcher her plow a field, behind the plow of course,
now that is nothing really great, except she didn't use a horse.
I asked directions to the town, or the right road anyhow,
she didn't even speak a word, she just pointed with the plow.
Now she split and stacked a cord of wood, without stopping to relax,
and started on the second one, while I sharpened up my ax.
So you can understand how she could be a rancher's dream,
when she hooks up the horses, she pulls the wagon to the team.
I've watcher her shoe the horses, then fill the barn with hay,
then milk the cows and string a fence, in a single twelve hour day.
So you can see that she's attractive, and just a pure delight.
I just watched her do the chores, and it was true love at first sight.
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Now in this big state of Montana, out here in the west,
the countryside just can't be beat, and the people are the best.
It's called the "Big Sky" country, when you see it you'll know why,
one half is where the people live, the other half is sky.
The mountains and the valleys, and the fresh clear running streams,
are a paradise that's real, yet could match the best of dreams.
This place is one of very few, that is yet unspoiled,
it yet remains quite as it did, when old time miners toiled.
The many trees and wildlife are still here to behold,
and trout-filled streams and wildflowers, as in the days of old.
Yes Montana has its beauty, as it has the space to roam,
and room for young to grow and play, for those who call it home.
But the people in Montana are the best thing yet,
for a stranger in Montana is just a friend you haven't met.
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Up here in the mountains, the silent snow drifts down,
and settles softly to the earth, making nature's winter gown.
Summertime has faded, once more winter's here,
with the quiet peaceful splendor, that comes this time of year.
The pure white snow turns crimson, with the sunset's fiery show,
and the mountain tops are framed in red, and the sky is set aglow.
There cannot be a better way, than this awe inspiring sight,
to bring to close a winter's day, or start a winter's night.
Beneath a great white blanket, nature's life now lies at rest,
until the time of year returns for it to rise and do it's best.
The creatures wear their winter coats, and some sleep the winter through,
some scamper through the trees and snow, as they were meant to do.
The beavers sleep 'neath icy ponds, the bears are sleeping sound,
each resting from their summer's work, 'til springtime comes around.
The winter nights are quiet, except on some lonely mountain trail,
the stillness might be broken, by some far off coyote's wail.
All of the mountain creatures have learned how to survive,
until the wintertime is over, and the springtime comes alive.
The stores of food are layed away, the dens are picked with care,
then the stillness of the winter sets in everywhere.
To live here in the mountains is a privilege granted few,
each day is filled with wonders, each day is something new.
Each season has its purpose, each living thing its place,
each season is a time to live, and nature sets the pace.
So take each winter as it comes, and enjoy it while it's here,
for there's not too many in one's life; it comes but once a year.
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