Snowy Canyon

Fiery rock, in layers and curves,

Dance of orange, red, and grey,

Flowing water, petrified,

With colors of waning day.

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Through those arches, rifts, and waves,

Mist will coldly always rise;

Through the narrow canyon walls,

Strands of blue meet upturned eyes.

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Soft and green, a skinny pine

Pokes through waves and curves of stone;

Little gray owl perched up high

Hears echoes of its soft tone.

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And the snow is driving

Dancing, leaping, flying, diving,

On the vivid stone alighting,

Snow and fire never fighting,

Playing, singing its cold cadence,

Notes so close and dissonant,

Dancing mesmerizing tangos

On your nose and cheeks and lips,

Although of cold and not of coal,

It lights a fire in your soul.

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