Down the river canyon
water flows on and on
from mountain lake
through desert rifts
of lava and ponderosa pine.
Beside the rapids
I hear the old song
of the earth family,
the sound of water
over glistening rock
holding the magic
of time unbroken.
Out of that cradle
the new earth is born
down through the ages
again and again,
creating a song line
older than stone
fresh as the morning.
Don, once again, you have written beautifully about your strange land beyond the plains. Thanks.
Beautiful!
Don: A timeless melody and lovingly played. But please can you delete Mr. Figel from your email list ? He really supples nothing to merit inclusion.
Thank you, Don.
“Out of that cradle
the new earth is born..”
Feeling this strongly today. My choice to rest and care for myself surprises me with the oncoming birth of a song of volcanic sweetness. The long flow of ancient waters carries ashes to the sea as I wait to see what part of the song I shall sing.
That song is way older than our little life span in human form!
Don, your poem scribes one arc of those enduring song lines, older than old, which bring forth new woman, new man, and new earth with its burden of light and life and love. Thank you, and keep singing the old songs in ever new ways.