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There is a trail in Pennsylvania that is barely tamed That winds on down the mountainside and fractures into veins. It lashes through the trees and wood, like man-made ligh-ten-ning And offers streams of water tasting pleasantly of spring. This way is framed with micro-caves and fissures in the stone Where sweetest water rivulets feed moss that's overgrown Haphazard wooden walkways dot the snake-like trodden path Their clumsy steps all akimbo; they bridge the wild gaps. And even further down the trail, dodging brown tree roots That point like gnarled fingertips and target untied boots Below, like uncut diamonds lodged into the mountainside Gushing waterfalls sing aloud, in ranges far and wide. Their surging torrents babble in a distinguished harmonies The wordless wind responds by rustling through the countless trees. There, at last around the bend, before the lumbered river A bench there sits within the shade where coolness draws a shiver The wood is at the mercy of the lichen and the rain That rush to bring that broken boards back to the earth again. And there, amidst the other foolish carvings in the wood Scrawled with hopeful youthful hands that did the best they could The chips and angles buried in reveal what once was true This is the final place where I will always love you , too.
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Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
At the End of the Trail.
There is a trail in Pennsylvania that is barely tamed That winds on down the mountainside and fractures into veins. It lashes through the trees and wood, like man-made ligh-ten-ning And offers streams of water tasting pleasantly of spring. This way is framed with micro-caves and fissures in the stone Where sweetest water rivulets feed moss that's overgrown Haphazard wooden walkways dot the snake-like trodden path Their clumsy steps all akimbo; they bridge the wild gaps. And even further down the trail, dodging brown tree roots That point like gnarled fingertips and target untied boots Below, like uncut diamonds lodged into the mountainside Gushing waterfalls sing aloud, in ranges far and wide. Their surging torrents babble in a distinguished harmonies The wordless wind responds by rustling through the countless trees. There, at last around the bend, before the lumbered river A bench there sits within the shade where coolness draws a shiver The wood is at the mercy of the lichen and the rain That rush to bring that broken boards back to the earth again. And there, amidst the other foolish carvings in the wood Scrawled with hopeful youthful hands that did the best they could The chips and angles buried in reveal what once was true This is the final place where I will always love you , too.
Visit my Blog for Notes and Extras: http://sarahquil.blogspot.com/
sarah-spang
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Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
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