Sounds like a place I could live in for life,

A place named “peace” beyond all the strife,

Granted no matter where one lives,

They will run into problems,

They will have their little nervous drives…

One of our own, Sir Regis, does live in this place,

Not for him would I move up there, but just the name,

It does so denote a life of peace, but a cold peace just the same,

Anywhere further north, brings about the cold,

Better to stay where I am, till I am just so old,

To move south for the winter, rather than to the north,  

To realize that peace cannot be found,

In the name of a town…

But still in all, to visit someday is my traveling goal,

To roam on the roads the old miners did travel, searching for the illusive gold,

To wander, to search, to enjoy every time I do perch,

On a mountain, in a field, in the middle of a town name of Peace,

To find myself in those back roads of life,

To end all my life’s constant gripes…

No more to darken this campground with my endless problems,

To keep myself on the road, to harken when I hear a cardinal’s song,

To sit and listen to the far off wolf,

His cry, his howl knowing I did not do wrong…

                © ed – 5/8/04