In the bright warm morning of summer
A bird chirps his worn-out trill
The wind blows gently in the prairie grass
The time stands stone dead still
I love those Montana mornings
As we hook up our world to go
Leaving the sweetness of the prairie
As back on the road, you know
Next time as the mood will hit us
And we venture this way again
We’ll head for our twenty acres
Where many precious days we’ll spend.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poetry is as natural as a Montana morning