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Poetry
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| Hope Springs | |
| By umbugjug | ||||
| 06 July 2005 | ||||
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i know it's a well used title, but i hope this come across how i meant it to. Cold, aching Bitter cold Whips around the mountain air As I visit Yellowstone alone. This spring is clearer than any other. Boiling water, steam Dancing on the surface. Heat shimmers distorting Vermilion, russet and coppery stains, Time's jewelled record. I think I might Jump in To feel the heat, A warm touch again. But I just stand by Hope Springs.
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