THEZEPHYRMAY 1991 The Lemon Tree Something Lost the poetry of Frank Lemon The Zephyr is proud to present the poetry of long-tim- e D. Frank resident Lemon. Frank was bom in 1901 in Ferron, Emery County, Gtah and has lived in Moab for Something seems lost to the most of us, Something is not quite understood, Why do we always keep seeking, searching? When we have so much that is good. poet for all of his life. His two collections of poetry: "The Lemon Tree and More Rhymes of a Ranch Hand are available direct from Mr. Frank Lemon, 2111 S. Murphy Ln., Moab, GT 84532 (5.00 EA 1.00 S and H). Why and where are we going? Why cant we stop-- - and just rest, Why do we dream of the tomorrows? almost 40 years. Frank was a ranchers for most of his life, and has been a were king, know what Id do? Frist thing would be-- - to stop all wars, Bring home our boys, give em all cars, Id give em gas and groceries too, Invent all kinds of jobs to do, They would have to worry a bit, And if they dont like to work, just let them sit! Next thing Id do is lower taxes, Id furnish grindstones so you can all grind your axes. Id cut the cost of living by half, And then trot out the fatted calf. Id lower rent and the cost of cars, Pay higher wages and conquer Mars. Id build highways, skyways, dams and bridges, Id widen the valleys and flatten the ridges, Id tell the Senators- - you boys, play ball! Id chase the darn Congressmen up the wall, Get with it, you guys Id say to the House; Ill fire you all if you start to grouse. If I All this Id do- - if laugh and sing. I were King, and all youd do is cant be King but could be President, whats the dif-- Well, I know When the todays have already been blest. What will be our destination? When our search for what seems lost is oer, Every Four Years I I ? LENA INDIAN TRADING TWO LOCATIONS TO SERVE YOU DOWNTOWN 60 N. MAIN GALLERY STORE 860 S. MAIN 259-505- 5 259-594- 2 Will we be content with that which we find there? When we pass through that final door. One Day in May The day broke dismal, cold and gray, That morn in May, that early morn in May. The dark gray clouds were scudding by, felt depressed, I wondered why? And then I knew, dear heart, I knew, You had to go away, that day; To work. 1 No fireplace log, within the house to bum, To keep me warm till your return; No step, no voice, to break the quiet spell, No cherry song, no fragrant smell Of you. Only a quiet lonely place, Only a quiet, vacant space; Awaiting your return. But, still I feel your presence round the place, I almost feel your breath, your warm embrace. And if my eyes I close, I think I see; You standing there, and smiling down at me. And so my heart fires never cease to burn, While watching, waiting for your glad return; From work. CO. Moabs finest selection & quality of authentic Native American Indian Art r PAGE 27 NAVAJO, ZCJN1 & HOPI JEWELRY KACHINAS ZtlNI FETISHES NAVAJO RUGS ALABASTER CARVINGS SAND PAINTINGS ACOMA & JEMEZ POTTERY PAPAGO BASKETS NAVAJO BASKETS LIMITED EDITION FRAMED PRINTS --