3/3/2025 for The echo returns not Poetry Contest sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
When driving in Colorado or Nevada, where twilight crimson rays on canyons burn, into ancient layers of blood red strata - on crooked roads, don't take the wrong turn. They say, in these parts, a lonesome cowman's spirit every evening returns to this despairing place or somewhere near it, just as the blazing sun adjourns. For a century his heart was laden, since his proposal was coldly spurned by a cruel, but lovely maiden; and since then his heart has yearned. The canyon's winds can chill you to the core - the doleful moan that will not learn, but waits in vain, and hopelessly implores an echo that will never return.
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