The canyon rim is the head of the trail;
Soon the gentle slope turns steep;
The opening line begins the tale;
Scenes grow wider and the characters deep.
Under cliffs that tower blue and dim,
Boulders tumble to the canyon stream,
And images tumble from an opening seam —
The rubble of another mountain strewn within.
On high slopes, surviving trees
Are bent and twisted by the wind;
The falls will never slow to ease
The waters’ unrelenting din;
The words will never cease to flow
Resounding on the thoughts below.
Downward the trail follows the course;
The hiker goes where canyon flora bend
And comes across the reader in the end,
Seeking equally the ancient source.