Walking the precipice
Of an old canyon hill.
Where the howls of wolves,
Echoed through the night.
Looking down at the ages,
Where the hollow hill formed.
The guts of centuries exposed,
The marvel of time encased.
Can I, the beholder, absorb
The beauty no man has seen?
Etched witin my feeble mind,
The rarity of its being.
in
Enormity
Lady Vivian
Ron
Love ya!
Jane
budd
e