Best Hwy Poems

hwy 93 glides up into
the misty grey 
where billowing black
shifting clouds
shroud the moon
like pirate sails

wheels and metal
destined for what is
forever slipping away

yet drawing nigh

so gentle and so kind

stopping by the horizon
on a summer's eve
"because it could not stop for me" *
(if you read poetry)

sage hills...

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