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.
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