I’m backtracking a bit, because the prairies of Western Alberta and the grasslands of Montana and Wyoming, and even those of the western edge of South Dakota, have all blended into one big range the last few days. A gorgeous range.
Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam.
Where the deer and the antelope play.
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word.
And the skies are not cloudy all day.
How often at night, when the heavens are bright,
With the lights from the glittering stars.
Have I stood here amazed, and asked as I gazed,
If their glory exceeds that of ours?