March 31, 2013
Success, success, there’s nothing so fair,
Excepting perhaps the cold mountain air.
That stirs in a valley ‘neath the sun’s wide-eyed stare.

Sweet victory, there’s nothing so sweet,
Besides the occasional grizzly-bear sleep.
Standing still in the woods where the river folk weeped.

Silver and gold, what more to strive for?
But a boat rowed by oars cross the rippling shores,
Halcyon minnows flutter softly and pure.

Glory and wealth, what else is there to gain?
Except for the glitter of sunlit rain
Awash in black-winged bird’s belly free
Time ticking untouched, what else to be?

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