And in this poetry, just watch how it come to pass. Setting there, a little ol’ kid with a borrowed sheet of paper, I said:
I am lonesome, oh, so lonesome for that far away southwest,
Where the shadows fall the deepest over the mountain crest.
I can see a lurking coyote all around the purple haze,
I can hear a lobo hollering down where the longhorns graze.
And somewhere up a canyon I can hear a lion whine,
In that far off Catalina Mountains, at the Arizona line.
Forty years later, I’m setting right there at that canyon, that lion looking me in the face.
O God, there’s a Land beyond the river somewhere, friends. It’s just…It’s got to be there. See? There’s—there’s too much speaking of it. All these things are not just myths; they are…They are real. They are realities. I’m so glad to be here tonight, to be with these people that I’m expecting to live over There forever with, where there’ll be no more sickness, or death, or separations. And travel will be nothing to us then.