The Canyons

The canyons dim, the canyons dark, fast river churning at its heart; the canyons sheer, the canyons steep, trees cling to walls, ready to leap; the canyons tall, the canyons wife, voice echoes on the other side; the canyons long, the canyons rough, running those rapids would be tough; the canyons air, the canyons breeze, condors upon the thermals seize; the canyons rim, the canyons trail, draws gaping tourists without fail; the canyons depth, the canyons walls, few hikers reach the floor at all; the canyons cut, the canyons age, reminds us that earth doesn’t play.