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Whips snap, taps blow, preacher offers a prayer, "Go Rest High On That Mountain,"
burros bray, answering bleats from distant sheep, mourners pray,
lightning strikes the ridge, golden dust flies, wheat scythes salute,
from biblical history, we know her name, rusty plows in the field, Young Guns to blame,
buried with her, the loom, where her wool was weaved, and her turquoise birthstone jewel,
her orphaned baby lamb bleats for her,
Whips snap, taps blow, preacher offers a prayer, "Go Rest High On That Mountain."
Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist http://home.earthlink.net/~sagesweetwater/
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Sonny G
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
Ha! I was able to review your poem! HURRAH~! :)
You find the most charming companions to go riding with, Sage.
Wouldn't mind putting this lady's foot in the stirrup. :-) k
Susan
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)