Member Poem

Neither one waiting at the bend
  Nor stationed upon the hill
Was present to make offense
  Or entertain some evil will.

A breeze came, another went -
  Rattling the bursages
As a creeping serpent
  Going into hiding does.

If I died right here -
  How many lonesome clouds -
How many foraging birds
  Would pass by before I was found?

Would the beloved sun
  Care to kiss me good-bye?
Would the angels of the canyon
  Guide me on my flight?