The wind in Wyoming doesn’t blow, heck it’s barely a breeze,
Only uprooting large rocks and strippin’ the bark off'a trees.
Livin’ here most certainly makes for a challenging life,
Because when a farmer goes outside he has to tether his wife.
She may blow plum away and never be seen,
He wouldn’t wanna lose her, cause as a chore do’er she’s mighty keen.
The ol’ bald eagle wasn’t bald til he moved to Wyoming it’s been said,
Darn wind just blew the feathers right off'a his head.
The prairie dog was once an above-ground dweller,
Til' a tumbling tumble weed smacked im’, poor feller.
In fear he dug a hole fast and deep,
So those rollin’ weeds didn’t pummel him in his sleep.
When he finally got enough courage to come up and take a peek,
He chirped “damn it’s still windy” (of course, that was in prairie-dog-speak).
The bovines grazing out on the plains are holding on with all their might,
Clinching their teeth and getting a better grip with every bite.
We are a modern bunch in Wyoming so we don’t have snail mail,
We just open the mail box and let it take sail.
Grandma may get the same letter three times in a row,
Depending on which way the wind wants to blow.
Don’t be fooled by this breeze in the land where the buffalo are roamin’
Because, you just wait . . . until the wind really gets to blowin’.
© Stacy Jenne of Douglas, Wyoming