Folded mountains settle into the Snake River plains.
Where golden fields flow with rows of tall grains.
His rising peaks sprout juniper, cedar, aspen, and pine.
Whose wild beauty will not be confined.
Sunflowers shriek in the thin mountain air.
Alongside roaming wolves and foraging bears.
Cattle graze grasses on peaks and on plains.
The elk and the moose migrate through valleys untamed.
Spring’s late snow covers the young tulips reaching for light.
The thawing soil gives tender roots streams of delight.
The buds of the trees grow with each hour.
It can’t be much longer before lilacs form their fragrance on flower.
The endless daylight of summer gives pleasure to all.
As cornstalks and chokecherries grow upright and tall.
If you haven’t swam in a cool mountain lake,
You’ll never be happy, you don’t have what it takes.
The fruit of the vines must be shielded from the frosts of the fall.
The raspberries ripen and to birds and small children dutifully call.
The leaves of the trees must return to the dust before long.
As the birds head for the south, after singing sweet songs.
His people fish for trout and hunt for big game,
And can alter their phrases from pious to profane.
Fear of outsiders runs deep to the bone.
From the powers that be, they long to be left free and alone.
Idaho’s women are not shy or refined.
They are comfortable in fishing boats and muddy duck blinds.
Some wrangle cattle from atop mighty steeds.
Most devote themselves to families and take care of their needs.
I was not born in this rugged, good looking land.
It was love at first sight as I clapped my still hands.
If my death is recorded is some foreign state,
I request that someone return my ashes to one of his lakes.