Once we were mountains
Where rivers flowed
Over solid rock
And children fresh from our soil
Climbed our paths towards the sky
Stretching their arms to the sun
But now we are old and bent
We shuffle into a hotel hall
To scoop mango pie and whipped cream
Into overstuffed bellies
Crumbling back to earth
Then from the side door
Two rows of youth appear
Bare feet and hula dress
Sway through the smell of sweet plumeria
Summers of our past
Tiny arms slope upwards
Fingers join in a point, a summit
And earth stirs in the depths of our being
We get up from our chairs
Gray peaks rising
Spirits to the sun
Touching God.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.