A tear fell down the old man's face,

as he recalled a time in this same place,

when man could escape the awful grind,

and come to the desert to let it unwind.

 

He came to the desert to be alone,

no traffic cops or nagging phone.

The air was clean, the vista wide,

there was not a soul to check his stride.

 

Yes, he could wander for miles on end,

just he and his Jeep, and maybe a friend.

Enjoying the hills and the Joshua trees,

not a care in the world, as free as the breeze

 

He could follow the trails of years gone by,

 when man traveled in wagons, and only birds could fly.

Exploring the Ghost Towns, re-living the dreams,

of countless men with get rich schemes.

 

Yes, there was a time when this was free,

just waiting out there for you and me.

But, it came to pass when this would end,

for he and his Jeep, and many a friend.

 

It all started innocent enough,

just a little restriction, nothing too tough.

Like one tiny raindrop to mix into mud,

it followed with others, and then came a flood.

 

Oh, the intentions were good, or so he was told.

the land must be saved, as though it were gold.

Close it all off, every inch in the nation.

Save it for those of a future generation.

 

So, it was decreed, at the drop of a gavel,

over this land, no more could he travel.

The Ghost Towns would vanish, with no one to care,

their countless secrets, unable to share.

 

And it was saved, just as intended,

until population growth declared it be ended.

Man now needed the room to expand,

he couldn't afford to save the land.

 

The bulldozers came, the concrete was spread'

concern for the past, was long since dead.

Buildings sprang up, where Joshuas once grew,

with highways, and stop lights, and traffic cops too.

 

No, he hadn't shared in these joys of the past,

his father's father, was one of the last.

Nor did those of the next generation,

for the land fell prey to mass excavation.

 

And, as the old mans thoughts dwelled upon the past,

he was shocked from his dream by a jet planes blast.

He raised his face up to the sky,

and prayerfully asked "Oh, dear God, Why".

 

                                        - Denver L.. Howard

 

 

 

* First published in Four Wheeler Magazine, June, 1975