On Mountain

Beckoning forth
Your soul lingers
On mile high
Mountain top.
Lots of mountains.
Lots of needles.
My voice echoes
In the chasm
Of the valley.
Lots of valleys.
Lots of voices.
And the rays
Which bleach
Your hair
Never slight
My eyes.

This poem is Copyright (c) 1994 Kerry Brodt. All rights reserved.

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