I walked in the desert,
For endless miles.
Till my legs really hurt,
Out in the wild.
Through the Painted Desert,
I walked in awe.
In my sweat soaked shirt,
Down an alkalide draw.
I climbed a mountain,
Just because she was there.
I did'nt want to be wanting,
And it was'nt a dare.
I stood on the mountain,
And I saw for miles.
And took to shouting,
Like when I was a child.
I climbed a volcano,
And went down it's inside.
And heard the wind blow,
And never replied.
All of this wonders I saw,
In the great American southwest.
And though my feet were bruised and raw,
Of the times of my life, this was the best.
8/7/10 Alton Texas
Juan, Never been to the painted desert or any of the other places you visited in this poem until now. Now I have been thanks to you and I nearly heard the wind blow in the volanco. Thanks for a wonderful trip through your pen. Your pal Lynn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Right on Juan, great description of some of the most mysterious, wonderful wilderness on the planet. Very good, wish I was there right now!