Its Treasure Calls Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

Its Treasure Calls



Nostrils fill with wood smoke,
a mountain spewing lies

Fifty miles up the trail,
its legend waves goodbye

Lost Dutchman in my memory,
the map no longer clear

While buried deep inside the truth
—its treasure calling dear


(Villanova Pennsylvania: March,2014)

Saturday, July 22, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: treasure
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