Robert Galen Genoway
Rocky Mountain breeze,
perfumed with the pitch of pine,
cleansed by the breath of trees,
filtered through the vine. Sing, oh sing, lone troubadour.
We loved your songs, O' balladeer.
From where the mighty eagles soar
the breezes hush to hear. He sang of mountain blues,
his music clear and mild of stance.
of majestic mountain view,