Pristine Pondering

What were my eyes searching for As we sat awhile above the crowd? Taking in the freedom’s wind Forming shapes from timid clouds I cast my cares to the brisk mountain air In hopes that I might see What hunter's eyes had not yet spied in curiosity I asked myself is there such a place In the deepest patch of wood? Where human hands have not yet touched and feet have not yet stood? A place the axe has ne'er been rung Or a bullet's aim has failed Beyond the azure lakes and streams Where a child's boat has sailed A place in which the artist's brush Has not been quick to spy Where nature reveals her handiwork Unknown to human eye Where boughs remain unbroken And peace is ever still A part of life we have yet to find And perhaps we never will