We rolled into Yellowstone, hearts all aglow, with binoculars ready and cameras in tow.

The bison were waiting–by hundreds, no less–strolling the road like they owned the address.

A mama bear waddled with cubs close behind, while we squealed from Shaun.

A wolf trotted by with that wilderness flair, and coyotes gave us their side-eyeing stare.

A badger popped up with a “What do you want?” then vanished again like a grumpy old haunt.

Ground squirrels played tag at every odd turn, chittering secrets they thought we should learn.

We climbed Bunsen Peak with our legs full of fire, then huffed up Mt Washburn, each step a bit higher.

The wind kissed our cheeks at the top of the world– and the views! Oh, the clouds! Our souls just unfurled.

Old Faithful went off, like clockwork, ker-pssshh! The crowd applauded and cheered.

We wandered through geysers all bubbly and loud, with steam curling up in a shimmering shroud.

Grand Prismatic stole every ounce of our breath, so colourful it nearly painted us to death.

And Mammoth, that limestone-layered surprise, looked like a pastry baked under hot skies.

We gasped. We laughed. We ate snacks by the ton.

We said, “Yellowstone, you’re the number one!”

Now we’ve left, and it stings just a bit, we miss your wide meadows and boiling-hot ground, your herds and your hills and your geysering sound.

You are a wild-hearted marvel, so rugged and free–