I sit near the edge,
As close as I dare,
Observing the gouge through the land,
That’s opened up before me.
I hear the wind,
Whistling through the scar,
The water far below,
And the critters a’scurrying.
I smell the clean air,
That rushes up from the canyon,
Thick with humidity,
Of the early morn.
I feel the coarse ground,
Spread out beneath my hand,
And the cool, smooth rock,
That I’ve chosen as my perch.
I sense the energy,
Emanating from the trees, the rocks,
The canyon,
A truly magical place.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i wish i could visit this place.. i got pictures of it on my computer! !