On Little Pine Log
The moon sliped over
the ridge,
a great silver medalion.
In the distance,
a coyote sends its voice up,
towards her luminous grace.
The fire crackels,
and the ancient myths
live once more,
in red, white hot, glowing embers.
The earth breaths,
her bosom rising and falling,
with a soft, silent sigh
of reminiscenceane and longing.
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Niceun BAE
Great portrait of the western scene, i felt like i was "home home on the range, where..." well u know »BRYCE
Thanks Bryce
Thanks for the kind review, I took my kids camping on Little Pine Log mountain many years ago,we sat by the fire and I told them old Cherokee stories from the same area we were camping. It sounds like it should be in the west but it is in North Georgia where I live. P.S. I really enjoy your writing, I just haven't had much time to comment on your work.
Thanks again,BAE