Wherever there are breezes blowing
wherever there are trails a-winding;
those are the places I'll be going
those are the spots that I'll be finding.
Among the petroglyphs and grasses
atop the wind-swept mesa's,high;
I give the views long sweeping passes
and touch my fingers to the sky.
I'll walk the ridges and the hills
soak in the perfume of the day;
escape the city's cheapened thrills
I'll keep the madness there at bay.
By the mountain's path at dawn
by the summit's peak at noon;
I'll be home as day wears on
before the rising of the moon.
Wherever solitude is talking
wherever eagles there are soaring;
I'll grab by boots and I'll start walking
to listen to the silence, roaring.
I do a lot of walking myself, there's nothing like seeing nature first hand. A great poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A pretty, picturesque poem which captures majestic mountains, blowing breezes, and trails that tease us to walk them. Enjoyed this one immensely!