Out in the country on back roads we roam

taking in scenery that others have known,

When building their homestead or blazing a trail

or maybe just out hunting fleet footed quail.

Vast open pastures and prairie’s to please

with ground cover swaying in a warm blowing breeze,

Bordered on three sides by a plumb line of bark

of densely packed trees that shelter the dark.

Small stands of live oak matured of great age

with singles dispersed on this great open stage,

Thickets of underbrush packed in the woods

a haven for wildlife from where man has stood.

There’s just something so peaceful away from the crowd

and clutter that mankind creates and allows,

A wholeness with nature, a positive force

a feeling of healing from an inspiring source.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust

when my days are over, without any fuss,

Just cremate my carcass and sprinkle me down

in the lush peaceful setting of

the Happy Hunting Ground.