In the Valley


There is nothing like

The smell of sage in the morn

Wafting on the lazy breeze


There is a corner

Hidden, low in the valley

Where the sego lily grows


And there the angel

Made of everlasting stone

Watches those that came before


But now it’s time for

The sound of children whooping

As they merrily run through


Ever the woods stand

Tall, watching proudly over

The fields of flowers and grass


The mountain stone sees

What happens in its shadows

Ready to protect, its charge


And in that valley

Green sage and red brush combine

‘Neath the settling purple sky


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