by Delle Redd Ivins, about 1922
Crossing the plains was a glorious feat,
Oft it has been praised both long and sweet.
Crossing the Alps was a fine exploit.
Much in history is said of it.
But why should they get all the praise,
When Lund was settled in later days?
Listen to me while I relate
Things of interest with time and date.
It was in the spring of ninety-eight,
The twentieth of May, the exact date,
That pioneers entered this very spot,
Waiting their turn to draw a lot.
Among the first who came to stay
And work from morn till night each day,
Were, I'm not sure, but I've a hunch,
Jess Blake, Ote Terry, and the Oxborrow bunch.
The Whipples, Wakelings and Ashbys came
To swell the colony and give it a name.
Granary and meat house furnished a shelter
To protect them all from White River weather.
Next came W. H. Ivins and wife,
And here they spent the best of their life.
The colony grew apace and by fall
Numbered thirty-five, counting large and small.
Lillian Ashby was the first child born,
The second, I think, was Whipple's Leone.
Increases continued about like this,
In a few months came Ivins's Bliss.
Of course I can't remember them, they came so fast,
But all were sturdy from first to last.
And there's more now to the square block
Than you'd find this side of the state of New York.
The townsite spread and continued to grow,
Streets full of hay all ready to mow.
For the town was laid out in a lucerne field,
And that same year there was a heavy yield.
But in a few years it was trampled down
And in its place rose a nice little town.
They were Mormons, and no Mormon's a fool,
So in the first year they established a school.
Lund and Preston joined together
For Church and Sunday School in all kinds of weather.
Taking turns every other week,
Religious knowledge they gathered to seek.
Thomas Judd was Bishop for a while,
We oft recall his ruddy smile.
He was faithful and true in his position,
And did many kind acts of his own volition.
Our socials then included all
Old and young, large and small.
And many gay times we had together,
We'd come at a call in all kinds of weather.
At first Lund belonged to the St. George Stake
And many trips did the officials make.
But they found it hard such trips to take,
So they gave us over to North Weber Stake.
When Bishop Judd resigned and prepared to go,
His place was filled by O. H. Snow,
Who took his position for a few years lease
And saw the inhabitants greatly increase.
When he moved away to better his case,
Bishop A. R. Whitehead took his place.
For years he worked in a Bishop's wake,
But finally moved to live in Salt Lake.
Then to complete a ward organization
Bishop George W. Fawcett holds this honorable position.
Nearly a quarter of a century since the pioneers came
And Preston's age is just the same.
I've remarked before,. that in the fall
We numbered thirty-five, counting large and small.
Nearly four hundred we number today,
Counting those who are temporarily away.
We always notice and recall, that when
People leave, they come back again.
Even our school teachers from any state
Want to come back, soon or late.
The Pioneers of Lund and Preston have had their troubles,
But compared to the blessings, they are only bubbles.
We all have had troubles which we bravely face,
No better people are found in one place.
And in World War I, our boys thirteen strong
Joined the troops as they marched along.
Suffering the trials of a soldier's life,
Month after month beheld carnage and strife.
Suffering griefs which we had little chance,
To hear of as they marched through France.
But this dreadful war is a thing of the past
And may it, God willing, be forever the last.
Many of our friends have gone to their Maker.
We see their last home out there in God's Acre.
May their memories help us as women and men
To so order our lives that we may see them again.
Helpfulness and hospitality are Lund's asset.
In sickness and sorrow she is there, you bet.
Ready and willing at a moment's call
You will find the neighbors one and all.
All great souls respect their own, and all
Will go at once to Duty's call.
Now let us think kindly of those who roam,
And be loyal to Lund. It is our home.
by Belle F. Gardner
Right here I would like to relate a tale of some renown
About the twins that were born to folks in our town.
Because there were so many, we took it as a token
We were favored by the Lord
And He was sending down to us a Heavenly award.
They came along in order as though it had been planned
To make local history int'resting when its pages should be scanned.
The summer after the Oxborrow boys, along came Carter's girls
With black eyes and blue eyes and just a hint of curls.
Now the town was filled with laughter and joy without alloy
When the next summer, to Harrisons, were born a girl and boy.
That History does repeat itself we surely did believe
When we heard what had happened just before New Year's Eve.
It was a story that all were eager to tell,
"O'Donnell's had twin boys and all were doing well."
Before the next year was over twin girls came to David and Ruth.
Then we decided nothing is more amazing than the truth.
They were so precious that they named them Ruby and Pearl
And thought nothing could be nicer than a girl and a girl.
But though they were so welcome, they hadn't come to stay
And very, very soon the Lord took them both away.
To Byze and Lil, a short time later, were born a boy and girl.
The town was full of excitement and things were in a whirl.
Julius married a girl in Idaho and their first were a girl and a boy.
When the word came, 'tis a wonder some hearts didn't burst with joy.
Now some might think this a fairy tale but it's nothing of the kind.
To tell things just as they happened is what I have in mind.
In the fall of 1914, to Will and Emma Hutchings a pair of boys were born,
Then to Vern and Ruth Eardly, twin girls to add to the county's charm.
Then a boy and a girl, their first, were born to Bobby Reid and Zella,
And then a pair of boys to Vern Whipple and Luella.
Now we began to wonder, would wonders never cease?
Could twins continue systematically in this little town of peace?
But no, since then they haven't come as often as before
And not so many twins play around our schoolhouse door.
They haven't quite quit coming, Paul and Erma have a girl and a boy,
And Romania and her husband, a boy and girl to bring them joy.
This poem was taken from a very long poem entitled To Sabra -- by Belle F. Gardner, --1940. It is a story in itself of a pioneer friendship that endured for many years through hardships, joys and sorrows as well as the small irritations and simple pleasures of an earlier day. I have shortened this excerpt somewhat to make it fit the lines. The complete poem is a treasured part of the family collection.
This poem by Mary Sinfield was given first at the Pioneer Day program, July 24, 1941.
The Pioneer Trail
by Mary Sinfield
Thus the beginning of this great plan--
Who is to finish what they began?
Who to the North, to the South, to the West,
To colonize countries, build homes for the blest?
'Twas up to the youth of that valiant band,
And those who by birth inherit this land;
Those who heard first the gospel's great call;
Those who in line with their leaders could fall;
Those who, though weary, would never say "done",
'Till the last task accomplished, the last race was run.
And you ask it again--Who in that time?
Why bless you, my child, 'twas your dad and mine.
First to the South, then to the North,
Then to the West they were called to go forth-
From Mexico's borders to Canada's plains,
Then to Nevada's wild domains.
Of all the cities and hamlets and towns,
I think that Lund was the best place they found.
There were Ivins and Ashby and Whipple and Judd,
The truest pattern of Israel's blood.
There were Oxborrow, Carter, Terry and Smith,
The finest material to colonize with.
There were Burgess, Gardner, Harrison and Reid;
As pillars of strength, what more did they need?
There were Jacobsen, Chadburn, Leavitt and Vance,
As true as the steel in the soldier's lance.
There were Gubler, Fawcett, and Horsley, too;
All built a heritage for me and for you.
There were Wakeling, Hendrix, Davis and Snow,
Who sowed and reaped, e're time to go.
There were Peacock and Mathis and Sinfield and Ruppe,
And a score of others who built up that group
Of stuanch and sturdy pioneers bold
Who left us a legacy better than gold.
Don't let us forget them in passing by.
'Twas for us they lived and for us they would die.
Let's try to appreciate the great faith of them
And try to remember the lives of these men.
For these are our people and this is our land.
May we catch the vision of that valiant band-
And may we still hear over mountain and vale,
The marching of feet on the "Pioneer Trail".
To Ann Reid
by May Reid
A tribute to a sister-in-law and beloved companion in pioneering.
Now before we close the record
Of Nevada's pioneers
I would write a name among them
Of one who, through the years
Toiled in days of rain and sunshine
That others might be cheered.
"Feed My Sheep", she got the message.
It was written in her heart
And she loved to do His bidding.
Bread alone" was only part
Of the many gifts she gave us--
Courage, faith in duty's call
Helped us on life's rugged pathway,
Pioneers one and all.
Little children always loved her
For her sunny smile so rare
And the little gifts she gave them,
Tokens of her loving care.
As she travels near life's sunset,
May flowers bloom before her door
And the birds make sweeter music
Than she's ever heard before,
'Til she's happy with her loved ones
Waiting on that other shore.
by May Reid
The house of music and flowers,
The house of laughter and song,
The house where the old find a welcome,
The house where the young find a home.
Where doors have ever stood open
To the hungry, the weary and cold,
As well as to music and singing
That rings clear in the air as pure gold.
The house that is brimming with children,
With fond smiles for Mother and Dad,
A rare comradeship among them
That makes them contented and glad.
But now their dear father has left them
And they have found homes of their own;
But the hearthstone oft finds them around it,
Where grandchildren, too, feel at home.
And Dad's never far from the hearthstone
As his smile and his wit they recall.
Ah, Mother and Dad had the magic
That made a rare home for them all.
Whose house? Harrison's.
This poem by May Reid to her granddaughter, Della Mae Ivins and her reply are self-explanatory.
Dear Della Mae
Before you go to college,
Get your head chuck full of knowledge
Of that highbrow stuff they feed you,
Pause and think of one who needs you
To do a little typing,
Just to type a little poem--
A mediocre poem
But a poem is a poem
And a poem does need typing.
With a little extra bother
You may greatly please an author,
Although she does do sniping
Into literary lore.
But a poem is a poem,
And a poem does need typing.
Sure the poet is a bore.
Here are two little poems
Two merry little poems,
Which, with no extra bother
Were typed to please an author
Who says she does some sniping
Into literary lore.
But she's a "really truly" poet
'Though she doesn't seem to know it,
And for her information--
She's my best-loved inspiration,
A really truly poet; therefore,
Anything but a bore.
Love, Della Mae
In this poem, John L. Whipple recalls the Nevada he first knew as a young man.
Springtime in Nevada
by John L. Whipple
When it's springtime in Nevada
We will celebrate the day,
With the sweethearts of our choosing
And our friends so bright and gay.
We'll recall again our courtships
When our lives were young and free,
When it's springtime in Nevada
Where we all are glad to be.
When it's springtime in Nevada,
We will join the happy throng
With our sweethearts, friends and neighbors
We will sing a joyful song.
Once again we'll say, "I love you"
To sweethearts of many a day
When it's springtime in Nevada
Where the sunshine loves to play.
When it's springtime in Nevada,
We will cheer the young and gay
With our sons and our daughters
We will work and we will play,
While all nature is rejoicing,
Birds and flowers are on their way
For it's springtime in old Nevada
And our hearts are light and gay.
Bliss Ivins Jones, third child born in Lund, October 6, 1899, lived away from Lund for many years beginning with high school and college and going on to teaching and numerous tours to all parts of the world but for over thirty years she never missed an Old Folk's Party in Lund. After she retired from teaching in Burbank, California, she missed one or two parties when she was visiting the family of her son, Bill, when he was President of the Uruguay Mission. Later she made her home in Lund until she died while on a tour of the Far East. Each year she wrote atribute to the town and its pioneers. For this history I have taken excerpts from several of her poems and tried to put them together, not in the order she wrote them, but in some sequential order as to content and I have called it.
by Bliss Ivins Jones
1959--When the weary travelers
Saw this valley at long last,
Called by the Church to colonize
A valley of this breadth and size,
A little group had traveled many days
Over rugged hills and weary ways.
As they reached the spring and settled down
They wondered if they could make a town.
They drew for lots and built their homes
And took their fortune as it comes.
Now we are many instead of few
But the pioneer spirit still lives in you.
The heritage they gave us spreads in rich array-
The things they gave us made us what we are today.
1965--Do you remember
When Lund was just a cluster of cabins
Near the big spring,
With everyone like one big family
Within a friendship ring?
Do you remember
The old log schoolhouse of three rooms
Built so long ago?
We held school and church there.
How the classes did grow!
Do you remember
When we did our reading and studying
With kerosene lamps not so bright?
But our family circles were close and gay
Held by that ring of light.
In our home, our parents
Would read aloud at night.
Do you remember
When they built the new schoolhouse?
Now four rooms were filled
And the search for more knowledge
Has never been stilled.
Then came the High School
And it was filled each school day
And the young folks could stay home
Instead of going far away.
Do you remember
Our first big celebrations
Of the Twenty-fourth of July?
With all the children on a float
Lund's Best Crop was the cry.
The covered wagons with pioneers
And Indians painted bright.
They looked so real and fierce
I'd dream of them at night.
Then would come the meeting
With recitations and many songs
And we were caught up with patriotic fervor
And forgot our daily wrongs.
Then sports would fill the afternoon
With many kinds of races.
We all had some money to spend
All the children with shining faces.
And at night a big, big dance
With music swinging free.
We really danced all night-
Who more joyous than you and me?
Do you remember
When they built the new church?
The old one burned one day.
They held church in the High school
But that was not a good way.
When I look at this building
I see the work of many hands so true
As it went up brick by brick
A monument to all of you.
You can be proud of this building-
It stands so straight and tall
When visitors come, they are impressed
That you could do it all.
1948--Every year at the end of the year
We travel back to a town so dear
Through cold and sleet and rain and snow.
It's a small place to which we come
But it's full of love because it's home.
It's a time of joy--it's.filled with gladness
But under the joy there's a tinge of sadness.
For in our circle there's an empty chair,
And another here--and one over there.
But from the time we begin 'til the fun is over
It's a time of remembrance--for near us hover
The spirits of all those who used to be there
And they come back tonight our fun to share.
I have to think hard but my vision soon clears
For I've been old enough to come for only nine years.
The first picture I see as I stand before you
Is my mother--and she is reciting too.
There were lots of recitations over the years.
Aunt Belle writes and reads bringing smiles and tears.
And Aunt May with a smile and never a "froon",
Complies with the poem, "Now Bairnies Cuddle Doon."
And I faintly remember--the years are so long-
The thrill of Jack Oxborrow's yodeling song.
And Aunt Lil and Aunt Ellen with notes high and true
Are singing songs down the long years to you.
And over there I hear a laugh full of glee.
Why it's Dolph Whitehead. No one could laugh harder than he.
And there's Grandpa Fawcett with his Santa Claus beard,
With.the sweetest words for the ladies you ever have heard.
And, Aunt Bertha, come find a place to sit,
And Heber, always welcome with his fine dry wit.
And Aunt Sabe so willing to do her share,
Come in and take a soft rocking chair.
There are folks from Preston and the ranches, dressed in Sunday best,
Come to eat and visit and have fun with the rest.
I've Found My Angels
by Sabra Oxborrow
I have many angels and I am certainly glad I can recognize them.
It seems that all of a sudden a door opened and that door was mine.
I welcomed them and we sat for a chat. They're all angels
In human clothing and I'm going to tell you of only a few--
Three years ago,--Mrs. Ebel
1932--Mr. Gubler--Mickie Reid
1934--Uncle Earl Ashworth
Through the years--Ray Gubler
And forever and a day--Aunt Belle Gardner.
Yes, they are my angels and I see a shining halo around their heads.
I found them by the new faith they instilled in me
And by new confidence to try again--
By the warmth and wisdom they brought to widen my world.
Perhaps my angels are not angels to anyone but me
And perhaps will not be so in the world to come.
Yet, in their way, they have become the sum total of what is in me.
They have given me their gifts of understanding
And tolerance for myself and others.
They have knocked on my door and left me sorrow and laughter
And in both I have found new knowledge and me.
Never tell me there are no angels.
I hear the rustle of their sheltering wings
And the music of their trumpets each day of my successes,
And in the dark nights of my failures
They comfort me with their loving arms.
by Carol Collett
The nicest thing about the past
Is the memory I carry
Of my beloved town and friends,
Including Tom, Dick and Harry.
The old swimming hole at Whitehead's
Where we frolicked in the water;
I'd like to pass those memories on
To every son and daughter.
Perhaps the water wasn't so clean
Because of mud embankments,
But that didn't detract one bit
From its various enchantments.
Maybe Mart's car wasn't the first
To travel the streets of Lund,
But it's the one I remember the best.
Of riders, it had a fund.
There were trips to Ely and St. George,
With many a tire flat,
But those were good, unhurried days,
And we cared not a fig for that.
The Fourth and Twenty-fourth of July
Were days of glorious fun
Featuring often Lund's Best Crop.
By children the prize was won.
We represented the different states,
Or pioneers on the move,
And many an Indian bit the dust,
As our prowess we did prove.
Then came dramatic baseball games,
Between married men and single,
With stolen bases, and almost outs
The excitement made us tingle.
There was many a game and close contest,
A tug of war or potato race,
The challenge of greased pole or pig,
Made no dull moments in the pace.
At noon the steaming pit was opened,
Revealing barbecue beyond compare,
To be served with many other dishes
Prepared with loving hands and care.
Do you remember the log schoolhouse?
The upper part was lumber.
Teachers Charleston, Becraft and Channel,
Who never let us slumber?
Then we expanded to the new big hall,
Which also served for meetings.
There we assembled to sing our songs,
For plays and other fete-ings.
In the new school of cement blocks,
I remember McMullen and Beighler,
The former a very strict man
Who couldn't abide a giggler.
At night the hall resounded
To many a rolicking tune,
For dances square and round
And many a wedding in June.
To make an occasion special
We'd dance the long night through,
And shivaree and newly-weds,
Play pranks as Halloween, too.
Summer and fall, the canyons called,
And we answered with a smile,
White Knoll for picnics and pinenuts,
With chokecherries at Nine Mile.
An invitation to a dance
At Riordan's, Whipple's or Gardner's,
Was a most coveted thing,
For everyone and pardners.
We danced from dark to dawn,
Ate a sumptuous midnight repast,
And then as the sun rose over the hills
We'd partake of a great big breakfast.
The Holidays were always fun,
Viewed with much anticipation.
We had the most exciting times
Of any one in the nation.
There was the glorious Rabbit Hunt
With the victory banquet after,
When the losers feted the victors,
Combining jokes and laughter.
The first old Folk's Party in 1908
Started a fine tradition,
At forty you feel glad and old and young.
That is its special mission.
And so we celebrate tonight,
Gathering memories delightful,
To carry with us to our homes,
Which is our privilege rightful.
Many more memories I could name,
But I must not ever bore you,
So now I'll quit until next year
When I'll be back with another few.
Dear friends of this dear town,
May happiness by yours,
And if there's anything bothering you
I hope you'll find the cures.
by Effie O. Read
Of all the prayers I have ever heard
There is none that is more sincere
Than the ones that I often heard uttered
From the lips of my grandmother dear.
In the winter we sat by the fireside
When the weather was shivering cold.
The stories she told and the songs she sung
Were like letters written in gold.
At bedtime I have a picture
Of her nightie and pointed night cap,
Her turning the bedding, then put out the cat
And hunting around for an extra wrap.
Then as we knelt at the bedside,
With covers of snowy white,
Her first words were, "Thank You, God,
For our food and health, tonight."
Then, "God, please watch over my children.
Just help them be good and kind."
A word for the sick and afflicted
And the cripples and ones that were blind.
She didn't cut short that evening prayer
For her church President she never forgot.
The apostles and priests and teachers
And deacons were among the lot.
Her sincere thought for our nation,
Our President, everyone in the land;
She prayed for our congress, those men sent over there,
That He'd give them a guiding hand.
Then up with the sun in the morning
She gave us a laughing treat,
But before we could sit at the table
We would kneel and her prayers she'd repeat.
Dear Grandma, these prayers that you uttered,
As humbly you knelt morn and night,
Are as seeds that sprout with the sunshine
For your kindred left here to do right.
To Whom it May Concern
By Kelly Harrison, Feb. 1975 U.S. Bicentennial
Who am I----That I should bare my head
To yonder flag of red and white and blue;
Or stand with hand uplifted o'er my heart
As on parade that emblem passes through?
What is this strange emotion in my breast
As those bright colors blaze against the sky?
What is this lump that catches in my throat
And why this sudden dimness in my eye?
Why does that grand old song "Star Spangled Banner"
Fill me with chills and thrill my very soul
As on the air that martial music crashes
And salutes "Old Glory" waving fold on fold?<br >
Beneath that flag that floats so proudly there
Above a land proclaiming "Liberty";
Protected by its gently waving folds,
This is my home and life for me is free.
"Freedom"----What a precious thing to own;
Purchased and protected at such cost
By millions through the past two hundred years
Who offered up their lives for it and lost.
What is that "red" I see in that "Old Flag"
With vision blurred by tears within my eyes;
Is it just a strip of colored cloth,
Or 'blood' of heroes not afraid to die?
Men who stood and fought against the foe;
Nor counted what the cost to them might be,
With courage gave their wealth, their lives, their all,
To make this nation safe for "Liberty".
That 'white' that glistens bright then seems to fade
And turn to mist like fog upon the sea;
Is it a bit of waving fluttering rag,
Or 'faith' of patriots seeking to be free?
Free to choose the life that each would live;
To mould the steel, to teach, to till the sod;
With faith and hope that each might reach his goal
And With purity of purpose serve his God.
But now an azure haze begins to show
And as I watch it turns to deeper blue;
As undulating gently in the breeze
It complements that rainbow with its hue.
Could that be just a patch of fabric there
As those colors blend and separate again;
Or is it the 'loyalty' of generations
Of willing, hopeful, dedicated men?
Men who looked beyond the far horizons
And planned what they would like this land to be.
Who moulded, shaped and lit the fiery brand
Of "Liberty"----Then passed the torch to me.
Spawned by minds of men,----Inspired of God;
Protected through the years of strain and stress
By those who gave their lives that I might live
In peace----Can I do less?
It matters not the source from which I came;
Native born or from a distant land;
For those who would escape from dark oppression
This nation stretches forth a beckoning hand.
A land where opportunity is king,
If I will make the effort on my own
To rise above the common slum of ignorance
And grasp the wheel of fortune ere 'tis gone.
Where I may bow my head to any God;
And shape my life to suit my own desires.
The only limit is my own ambition
And ability to feed its burning fires.
Throughout the years that come and flee away,
The tides of fortune ebb and flow again;
If this nation would continue to be free,
It will do so by the sacrifice of men.
So now a debt of gratitude is mine,
To those who went before and paved the way.
Now I must take my turn and face the foe;
And stand for 'Peace' and 'Freedom' ----Come what may.
I'll grasp that torch and proudly hold it high;
Proclaim the cause of 'Freedom' loud and clear;
And thank my God that it has been my lot
To live where I may do so without fear.
And now I bow my head and homage pay
To that banner gently waving there on high;
The "Emblem" of a land where men are "Free"
Because the "Brave" were not afraid to die.
Wayne's & Helen's Golden Wedding
written and recited by Leonard E. Gardner
Just fifty years--and it includes all this:
A happy marriage, a life of bliss,
With time for work and time for play;
You've frolicked around--just lived day by day.
You have had no worries, always had good pay,
No one's ever been able to stand in your way;
What makes this a milestone, this fifty year thing
If all you've done is have a big fling?
Oh, this isn't true--it's not been that way,
You've had trials and troubles, and most every day;
You started with nothing, just love and some fun,
Decided to marry and then life begun.
You tho't it would be easy--two could live cheap as one;
The thing that foiled this was, you soon had a son;
Now that's a beginning that most people see,
Some go even further and have two or three.
You went beyond this, five children you had;
Three were like mom, two like their dad.
You say it hasn't been easy--still isn't today;
You've worn out your knees since learning to pray.
You raised them when young with a lot of care,
You taught each one the value of prayer;
But as they grew older and spread their wings,
You found yourselves worrying about so many things.
What's this you say? Oh, that can't be true-
I'm sure each one has a deep love for you,
But some just don't say it, and it's gone so long;
That makes no difference, I still say you're wrong.
It may be different from your love for them,
'Cause you're both still like an old mother hen-
You love and you hope and you yearn for the best,
And you're mighty proud when they pass the test.
But not all are alike, not all see the same-
The rules are different in 'most every game;
Your seats on the sideline may be somewhat obscured,
The problem you saw may be already cured.
So when you see a problem and you'd like to help,
You'll know exactly how your parents felt;
And if they were wise in a time of trial,
They merely gave love with a tear and a smile.
Your family's now grown but need never stand still;
For you're at the top, the light on the hill-
They don't have to look beyond you for direction,
Because you, in their eyes, are a stage of perfection.
They may not all say it--but deep down in each heart
They all want to thank you for a wonderful start-
So just go on living and love life each day;
God bless you, we love you--what more can we say?
I sit and dream of soaring high
Near the clouds, up in the sky.
Going here and going there
Where're I wanted I would fly.
Then I looked and saw my feet,
They wouldn't lift me off my seat.
I was stuck and out of luck
Unless I up and licked, defeat.
I found him up inside my head
Telling me what others said,
'Be a kite? Out of sight!
You will surely tumble dead.'
Not a kite, but a balloon
Ought to head me for the moon.
Just drop my weight and then inflate,
I hope to be in orbit soon.
Just drop those things that make me mean
And then inflate with self-esteem.
It will take work, but I won't shirk;
I want to be the way I dream.
To lift, I will be positive;
To fall back down, be negative.
It's up to me, where I will be
To all in life, it's relative.
~~ Vesta Gardner
So you call Nevada a desert,
And say it is brown and bare?
But if you're of that opinion,
You never could have been there.
Have you ever seen the great splendor
Of our mountains rising high,
Their majestic snow-tipped peaks
Towering against the sky?
Can you follow the silver ribbon
Of an icy mountain stream;
Where trout lurking in the shadows,
Fulfill a sportsman's dream?
Did you catch the furtive movement
Of a fleeting white-tailed deer;
Seeking to find concealment
From an enemy so near?
Have you seen the proud old eagle?
On soundless wings he can glide;
His eye on some hapless rodent,
Who scurries away to hide.
So you say that Nevada's a desert?
Then watch for the rising sun;
As it splashes its gold down the canyons,
And another great day has begun.
Or gaze at a rosy-hued sunset,
As the sun sinks from view in the West;
If you just raise your eyes to the mountains,
You'll know that Nevada's the best.
~~ Karma R. Lewis