Montana, bozeman, western culture, west, outdoor poems

To A Pronghorn
by Al Nyhart

That’s what I’m seeing
as you race across the basin
& into the Crazies.

But not as agile
as your cousin whitetail
leaping gracefully
over the barbed wire

while you struggle,
running madly
back & forth
back & forth

beside the fence
until you find an opening
large enough
to slip through.

Quaky Trees
by H. G. Moser

I wonder if the
individual trees
in an Aspen grove
know they are
each other

Last Leaf
by H. G. Moser

Last leaf
bounces softly
in the breeze
without choice
trampled in the snow.