In the Valley
High upon a boulder
in the valley, he stood,
"waiting" to run
through the bubbling brook.
Hilltops and knolls,
he traveled along,
timber-lined trails
led his heart, held a song.
While the hardwood wept
with sap in the spring,
or the last leaf had fallen
from the majestic trees.
Then the first frost, which glistened
upon every frozen branch,
Ice incapsulated berries
Brought hope to the land.
This sacred place stays solemn
where he cut, dug, and sweat,
Leaving a mossy ground
For all to rest.
Copyright © Kelly Besaw Gallo | Year Posted 2022
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