’Twas the night before the Fourth in the Cimarron Valley, And all through the towns, folks were ready to rally.
The flags were all hung from the porches with care, Waving proud in the warm Oklahoma air.
The children were buzzing, too wired for bed, With pop-its and sparklers and big dreams in their heads. They scattered like fireflies across every yard, Laughing and jumping and stomping down hard.
The smokers were churning, the briskets were low, With ribs on the racks and the coals all aglow.
The smell of the barbecue drifted around, From Cushing to Yale, through each small valley town.
Bottle rockets waited by dads with a grin, While moms hollered, “Careful!” again and again.
Water balloons flew with a splash and a cheer, As cousins took cover behind trucks parked near.
Then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, Everyone turned to see what was the matter.
Roman candles were flying in colorful streams, Lighting up faces and childhood dreams.
Over in Cushing, the crowd gathered tight, For drone shows to sparkle and dance through the night.
They shimmered like stars in a red, white and blue, Drawing “oohs” from the many and “wows” from the few.
Down at Keystone, the lake rolled along, Still semi-flooded, still muddy, still strong.
With driftwood and debris pushed close to the shore, It looked like the spring storms had come back for more.
But still people gathered with coolers and chairs, With watermelon slices and sunscreen to spare.
They came for the fireworks, the food and the fun, For neighbors and cousins and room just to run.
The sparklers were passed from one hand to the next, While grandparents watched from the porch, smiling and blessed. The little ones twirled them in circles so bright, Writing their joy in the warm summer night.
The bottle rockets whistled, the pop-its went snap, The babies got bounced in a lawn-chair lap.
The smokers kept puffing, the flags kept their wave, And nobody wanted the night to behave.
Then high in the sky came the grandest display, A burst like the sun at the end of the day.
Red, white and blue rained over the crowd, And even the quietest hearts felt proud.
For this is the magic of Fourth of July, Not just the fireworks that bloom in the sky, But people together, from near and from far, Under one flag and a million stars.
So from Cushing to Keystone, from Yale and beyond, Where the summer nights linger and memories are fond, We heard folks exclaim as the last sparks took flight, “Happy Fourth to the Valley — and to all a good night!”