Riding down the country road,
  nothing's lonely as
a dirty pickup truck,
  a creaking saddle
and wind blowing;
nothing's empty as
over the open plain
a desert sky
sifting the sand;
nothing's sadder than
wandering trails,
always searching
the golden fields
for a dream;
you'll only hear
the warm autumn sun
turning the grain to gold,
the song of the saddle
and old days remembered
when you are lonesome, too;
searching the sky
when your trail's empty,
for beauty and truth
 you'll hear it gently—
faraway memories
singing a song to you.

–Liz, c. 1990

This poem takes the words from a childhood song and intersperses it with words of my own.

–Liz

P.S. Last year I dropped my computer down the stairs and all my poems drifted away. I’m trying to recollect what I can find from other sources and save them here and in a notebook, just in case.