Rocky Mountain High 

(With Apologies to the Memory of John Denver)

 

Oh, how I long to be,

Up, where everything's clearer.

Where life is dearer,

And I am free. 

 

Beside a mountain stream,

To linger and dream.

Fry fresh caught fish,

And ponder the scheme.

 

That growth is progress,

And the wild must be tamed.

That blue skies and deep forests,

Can be blamed.

 

For our monotonous,

Civilized life.

So quiet and predictable,

Carved with idea's knife. 

 

Progress is slower,

To reach the high places.

You can still discover,

A world without traces. 

 

Of Man's powerful hand,

Reshaping the land.

Somehow, nearly two miles high,

The land is still free to touch the sky.

 

And, ancient as its geology,

In beauty that makes no apology,

I'm gifted with a vision,

No opiate has ever given.

 

So, if you're looking to get free,

Two miles high's the place to be.

Leave your troubles far below,

And free your soul with me.

 

Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull

8/15/99



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