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Chris Howard

When the spring comes we will ride again.
We will carve the valley there beside the rushing stream.
The falling tree blossoms will carpet our way.

In the summer we will cross the mountains
and see the moose eating marsh willows.
We will camp and build a campfire and make smores.

In the fall the golden aspens will quake
and shiver when we ride past.
A herd of elk will run with us along the road.

And next winter we will sit by this fire again
and talk about our adventures.
When the early night comes
we will snuggle down between the covers
and keep each other warm until spring.