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.