Golden Trails

Trails on golden pine nestled in wood grown old.

Lazy and remiss am I in forest thick and grown.

Oh to see this world before this rise of selfish man.

To see; to hold; to but simply taste of this virgins hand.

How sweet is this land; silent and filled with soothing sounds.

A land void of mans encroaching noise; a land lost, all but to my soul found.

For I linger now beneath this dream, comforted by fallen pines golden glow.

I stray and meander; I savor a forgotten pleasure; oh peace be still my soul.

J. Allen Wilson © 1-2008