Bryce Canyon

King of the Forest - Morning's Call

His eyes twin rocks, his face set stone,

Far-seeing gaze as grim as bone,
He lurks in forest eaves.
He rests his hands on columns wide,
Beneath such touch, smooth pillars glide,
A colonnade of trees.

This is his fort with living walls,
With courts of green and thicket halls,
A sheltered forest strong.
Deterring thieves are thicket moats,
Sharp, twisting brambles knotting close,
They guard from harm or wrong.

And he, the King, yet speaks no word,
But watches while he waits, unheard,
He searches for the morn.
For when dawn comes, a blast will ring,
Alerting wood, reminding King,
To keep their duties sworn.

Green ramparts glow as fire ascends,
Revealing silent, hidden glens,
A wood-cock plies his trade.
This trumpet wild awakes the trees,
They dance and leap without a breeze,
Light crowns their brows bright jade.

Recital 2011

Mind's Flight (The Canyon)

I soar great heights, a flight on high,

I wing a sky so blue.

This is my first attempt to fly,

To fly a breeze so cool.

Imperial points, inspiring lofts,

Red-painted canyon walls,

Sheer-plunging cliffs, dark, hidden troughs,

Bright sun-kissed waterfalls.

Rock faces strange, engraved in stone,

Unseeing lifeless eyes,

With rough-hewn lips, they gasp and groan,

The wind their ghastly sigh.

Illusion of a flight so grand,

I scarcely can contain,

Imagination, as I stand,

An effort, oh, so vain!

My mind sees all, my thoughts alight,

Upon forbidden mounds,

I drink it in, this wondrous sight,

Without aband'ning ground.