We don’t imagine men
who live alone
in the mountains
of ever dying—
we seldom saw them
when alive.
Word trickles down
the watershed:
tracks in fresh snow
where he lay down
forever to become
part of our landscape.
We don’t imagine men
who live alone
in the mountains
of ever dying—
we seldom saw them
when alive.
Word trickles down
the watershed:
tracks in fresh snow
where he lay down
forever to become
part of our landscape.
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Old soldiers and cowboys never die, they just fade away…
(That’s what the poem made me think of. )
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Such a peaceful concept. Gave me goosebumps.
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Alone with God. Remembered by a few.
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Very nice. Thank you.
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