Our Motor Home Poem by George C. Page

Down the road we travel
My wife and I alone:
Over mountains and deserts,
In a rig, we call home. Drifting across the great white plains
Where the windmills stand tall:
There the cattle are moving,
To where the cowboy calls. Through the red wood forest
As we slowly drive along,
We can hear the birds singing,
An enchanting melodious song. When we camp by the ocean:
Sunlight beams on the tide,
In the distance, whales and dolphins
Are swimming side by side. There's motels and hotels
From coast to coast,
But being in our motor home
Is what we love most.