Circles Made of Stone
As we journey wide in life
On strange ranges far from home,
We often stop and ponder
Old burnt circles made of stone.
They are last meager remnants
Of some campfire long ago—
Where pards and tired travelers
Would share a hot cup of joe.
The fire would blaze but briefly
Then be just smoke as they’d part—
To rise again down the trail
Where another fire would start.
Yes, they’d slowly gather rocks
And form that new ring of stone—
Build a blaze to ease the night,
So they’d not be all alone.
But those days are mostly gone
With stone circles left behind—
Cowboys seldom come this way
And good pards are hard to find.
And while fires now seem to die
And a cold north wind does moan—
There’s always comfort in a fire
In our circle made of stone.
And so we all go our way,
Build rings all the farther—
Honor roots and family,
But most of all, our Father.
Yes, now we’ve come full circle—
Return to earth as it lays—
A circle of completion—
Like brief dust of earthly days.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2007
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