Poem of the Week
July 26, 2004
in honor of
Colorado Day
August 1st
1876-2004
Love to hear the breezes blowin'
Through the golden grain,
Love to hear the cattle lowin'
On the grassy plain.
Think while loafin' in the shadow
Of the mountains high.
Ain't no flies on Colorado---
Not a cussed fly.
Love to hear the hammers poundin'
On the bitin' drills,
Hear the dynamite a soundin'
Through the 'tarnal hills.
Love to sit where field and meadow
Greet the wanderin' eye,
Ain't no flies on Colorado---
Not a cussed fly.
Love to see the fruit a blushin'
In the orchards fair,
Ranchers an' the kids a rushin'
'Round with busy air.
On their faces not a shadow,
Joy in every eye ;
Ain't no flies on Colorado---
Not a cussed fly.
Love to see the stir an' bustle
In the busy town,
Everybody on the hustle
Saltin' profits down.
Everybody got a wad a'
Ready cash laid by ;
Ain't no flies on Colorado---
Not a cussed fly.
Blessin's from above,
Every twinklin' eye a swimmin'
In a sea of love.
Tourists say in rapturous lingo,
As they pass 'em by :
"Ain't no flies on Colorado---
Not a cussed fly."
An' the baby crop the climate
gives us, fills the bowl
Of our joy, an' what a rhyme it
Wakens in the soul.
Stirs us up until, by gad, a
Feller wants to cry :
"Ain't no flies on Colorado---
Not a cussed fly."
Health in every breeze that's singin'
Through our Eden land,
Sun seems all the time a flingin'
Kisses from its hand.
Hill an' mountain, plain an' meadow,
Echoin' the cry :
"Ain't no flies on Colorado---
Not a cussed fly."
--James Barton Adams
From Breezy Western Verse, Denver, 1899.
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