It’s not the ride,

Nor  miles of desert,

That we travel to survive,

It’s my companions walking by my side,

And that Jackalope that darts from behind a cacti,

Aim of a rifle by my side,

Becomes a meal for my partner dog and I,

With heavens stars across night sky,  

The blanket of comfort we have tonight,

Planning the next days’ course,

Miles to travel across this divide,

For comfort when we reach that tide,

Of aspens there up in the tree line,

A cabin by a stream, we will survive,

This is the traverse we carry as we ride,

Up to the aspens there so high.   ©