Riding into the sunset,
May seem romantic to some-
I fear that it loses itís glamor,
When itís all that a manís ever done.
The call of the wild is a fever,
Which quickly develops a thirst,
To walk on the pathway less traveled,
To get to some lonely spot first.
To gaze on the beauty and grandeur,
Of a high mountain meadow in spring-
To follow the salmon when spawning,
To go where the waterfalls sing.
To lie of a night in the desert,
The Milky Way seems ďtouchingĒ close-
Smelling the sage and the huisatche,
Is when I want someone the most.
A soft hand to reach out and touch me-
When the wolves sing their praise to the sky-
Soft lips to gentle my slumber,
Her body there close at my side.
Sunrise, and sunset, and moonfall-
I face them each day on my own-
And look down the backtrail of memíry-
And wonder where my life has gone.