Rusty Dusty Memory.
Down in the sagebrush country
where some of the real old west
still clings to the land
Here lie the rusted steel bands
of an old wagon wheel.
There twin ruts follow pioneer dreams
across miles of wide open prairie
broken by the four lane highway.
We followed it to this secluded campsite.
In the purple dawn light I hear you
turn over and groan.
"I've had enough of this camping fun,
let's stay in a hotel tonight and tomorrow."
Looks like our nomad tumbleweeding days
are about to catch on the edge of civilization
and spring roots again.