Taken from The Old Trailmaster's dusty, but still sharp, mind
THE AUTHOR JOURNAL INFO EXCERPTS POETRY DESTINATIONS ORDERING
There's a desert where skies are deceiving,
where rain rarely reaches the ground;
There are lost men who keep on believing,
that there's plenty of gold to be found.
In harsh mountains that give up no treasures,
where quartz veins grant reason for an itch;
The old miners have no time for pleasures,
if they hope to one day strike it rich.
- The Old Trailmaster
He came upon an arid world
that few men had ever trod,
A foreboding place, bleakly rimmed
by mountains not formed by God;
The city folk knew better than
to venture onto this ground,
And any man who tread in there
would never again be found.
Yet with courage, and bold of heart,
he entered all alone;
Week after week he found his path
throughout that world unknown;
Day by day, he learned anew
from a land that time forgot,
A grand new way to live his life
in a manner, by others not sought.
- The Old Trailmaster
(More in the Journal )
THE AUTHOR JOURNAL INFO EXCERPTS POETRY DESTINATIONS ORDERING
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