Lines Written on an embankment above the Santa Fe River

Upon hard rock, solid and firm,
Ahead of me up on that berm
There stares a face with mystic eyes
A marker of where knowledge lies
Among the stones of ancient floe
A willow lined river below
And all the things one does not know
Scratched upon that cliff.
Icicles cling to molten rock
And slowly damp the ground below
They’re bothered not by I who walk
And tredge my way on through the snow.

That pinky golden glory of
The setting, blazing sun above
Another day has met its end
But many more, I hope I’ll spend
Upon this rock, beneath this sky
With clouds of pink just passing by
One moment grand, and then a trail
Of distant vapors turning pale.
The time has come for sentinels to rest
And me with them, and know that I am blessed.