Hiker

Water is always moving in mountains and men
They rise in time and fall, but water never ends.

August sun on a dry trail, the chilled voice

Of snow-melt in a rocky ravine sweetly calls
To the cup of my hand…
I dip and drink, I am a living stream.

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glyph_copyright_sign_00a9_139 Photos & Poem by Rayn Roberts 2014