On Top Of The Mountain
There is a place I go, at the top of a mountain,
then down through a cleft in the rocks.
To a small shelf carved into the side of the hill,
where nobody can see what it is you do here.
There are a couple of small pines and some rabbit brush,
several large and small rocks scattered about.
A place to give thanks, and offer tobacco,
to the east, to the north, the west and south as well.
A small fire pit for the cold nights,