Out here, where the grass reaches for the sky,

Each cow's a critter of the earth, that ain't no lie.

They don't pine for the painter's claim to fame,

As long as the grass is green, they’re in the game just the same.
The peaks loom large, like they’re privy to a divine jest,

Secrets shared only with those who by the hills are blessed.

And the clouds up high, all puffy and light,

Seem to chuckle softly at the grand ole sight.
There's a cadence to their grazing, a tune in the breeze,

A sonnet in the scenery, a ballad in the trees.

"Ease up," the mountains whisper, "no need to dash,

Life's a portrait, take a stroll, make a splash."
Now, you may not be an artist, but here’s a hunch,

This scene teaches plenty, a whole bunch.

It’s the heart of the prairie, a dream in a stream,

Where cattle drift free and the highlands reign supreme.
​So we'll tip our hats to this view so fine,

And remember all this, 'neath every good meal from a bovine.

A pinch of prairie, a whole lot of home,

In this landscape where the spirits of the plains can roam.