This trail stretches out it long finger
Pointing down the soft incline
Into the heart of a valley
Where trees have spread wide
Moved aside by the persistent
Strike of ancient tribes
In their persistent hunt
The sky drips wet
With the remnants of rain
And a suddenly exposed sunset
Each drop dripping
Off extended limbs
As the trees lean in
Gray given to blue
That rapidly grows
Darker and dim
With the orange gleams
Of another dying day
Along the ground
The points of pebbles
Sprout up like
Living things
From between
The yellowed hair
Of dying winter grass,
Each with roots
Into his sacred brown soil
Over which we stroll,
The unnoticing wanderers
Who seek comfort
In the warmth of
This deep valley
Marching down into it
Down into the dying day
Down into the labored night
Down into the place
Where all life sprouts
Hearing ever before it
The flowing river
And its promise of life.
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