AT NISQUALLY WILDLIFE REFUGE (1988)

TO THE NORTH AND EAST A HIGH PEAK STANDS

WHOSE FLANKS ARE BLANKETED IN ICE,

AND WHOSE MEADOWS, OFFERED MOMENTARY SUMMERS

BLOOM BENEATH A SKY THE EARTH THERE TRIES TO REACH.

BENIGN SUN DOES NOT PREVAIL FOR LONG,

AND SO A LITTLE TRICKLET SLIPS AWAY

AND SLIPS AWAY ANOTHER,

UNTIL ALL TOGETHER TUMBLING DOWN

THEY FORM A HURRYING CASCADE;

DOWN THROUGH VALLEYS RUSHING, GROWING

INTO A RIVER THERE COMES RUNNING

A KISS FROM THE MOUNTAIN

DEPOSITED WITH LOVE

UPON THE SOUND.

GERALDINE BYRNE PORTER

(Good Saturday afternoon...Here is another poem, not written elsewhere  except on a scrap of   paper, and had it not been saved by Dave, could have disappeared.  Here goes before I lose it again.   8/28/09)