The Valley Poem by David Burton Richardson

The Valley high, the Valley low
Of loathesome histories past
I long to see and long to go
Where memory comes to pass
Big Black mounds of Deathly Black
And shallow Stones and Coal dust Slack
The dark chasm Green of slithering Grass
The shivering Sheep that dare not pass
The brooding Black of silhouette Trees
The Bone crushed Stones and shambled Leaves
This Valley high and Valley low
Has borne my Soul and helped me grow
And when i die, my Bones will cast
And become a part of Histories past.