November 8, 2007
By Tyler Wells, Kalispell, MT

I think, deep down, we are the same,
Even though your music is lame.

Even though we sometimes fight,
I know it’s not good or right.

I always have to make things clean,
Just because I am a teen…

You kindly bought me a new truck,
And helped me hunt for my first buck.

I always have to mow the yard,
Even though it’s hot and hard.

I try real hard to stay on track,
But I know you’ll always have my back.


Eleven years ago, I got my dog,
Small and frail, he looked like a log.

My dad worked in Browning,
And brought the puppy home, frowning

Once he was only weak and small,
But now he has grown strong and tall.

Now, he is full-grown,
Mellow, and enjoys an occasional bone.

His eyes aren’t a color, but different shades,
And he’s gone on many garbage can raids.

He eats meats, cold and raw,
And tracks in mud, shaped like his paw.

I’ll always remember his special face,
Running through the snow, with only a husky’s grace.

Now he is gone,
But his spirit lives on.


The house is old and gray,
Shown in this picture shot at mid-day.

It smells of dirt and hay,
For this young farmer receives no pay.

The windows are all busted,
And the old cars are rusted.

Telephone wires are seen off yonder,
As you sit, gaze, and ponder.

Years of depression,
Leave few possessions……


Our singlets rode tight,
As the day turned to night.

It was Saturday evening in the Metra,
So everyone gave a little extra.

All the records were shattered,
And the coaches were flattered.

Suit and slacks were the attire,
For winning state was our desire.

Stacked in that pyramid pose,
We were number one, and everyone knows.

Trophies and medals glistened there, gold,
And the team was feeling quite rowdy and bold.

My personal goal was not met,
But that night I didn’t fret.

For another season is on its way,
And tomorrow will be a new day.

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