I drive through a town
where the trees stand tall
on tops of mountains
clinging long to
blankets of slowly
melting snow
because it makes them beautiful.
A town where tractors
are part of
what little traffic
it might get
in the early afternoon.
Where the chickens
with their cunning clucking
have the right of way
on dusty roads
and a contented cow
humbly massages
his enormous head
on worn and weathered stones.
A town with hills green
except when they're white
and souls with four legs
outnumber the ones with two.
The dwellers never leave
and the dreamers
can't find a home
to never leave.
It is populated by
sweet faced grandmas,
by grandpas with
alligator hands.
It is a town
where people still believe
that United We Stand.