The drive pass the mountain peaks at Glacier are steadfast foundations even in the August heat that stands upright – grand and palatial; giving my heart, that awesome; Reverential thudding beat.
How can this be a hundred years that have graced our land? When our forefathers walked peacefully through the rugged territory, With many a Tale told for future generations to understand, To marvel at and pass down to their families.
The rocks and stones in the lakes have seen many go by, along the banks, that are trodden on for centuries past; holding back tales that would make a grown man cry – of sorrows of a homeland that are now museum artefact plates encast.
Human failings have caused misery to those peaceful dwellers: their lives torn asunder to far-flung places! Only a few remnants of American Indian history are reminders, of a past that belonged to nature’s indigenous races.
A century has past and goodness of the earth’s natural land Has become our refuge in times of troubles and distress, As we savour the rich earthly smells that pervades our sensory glands, And the scenic landscapes appeal to our natural senses.
Are we not fiercely proud of our national parks? That rewards us with bounteous greenery so pleasing Of spacious walking areas that keep us as happy as a lark? As we hum out songs to the mountainous ranges, in solitary ease.
I have been writing poetry since my teens and later submitted some to magazines. In 2006 I created a writing blog and now post mainly topics related to nature and wildlife.
View all posts by anaturespath