"Ode to A Mountain Trail"
George D. Stout

A bed of leaves on limestone trail amidst the Allegheny wood
Meanders twixt the hardwood trees where outlaw Davy Lewis stood
To watch the Forbes Road's western path for stagecoach filled with travelers
In route from eastern villages way back among the early years

I walk alone, along this path where time has hid its mysteries
And think about the here and now, and contemplate priorities
What is this bent we all pursue, why do we hurry here and there
We get there just to turn around and search another new somewhere

Upon this road that few have seen there are no lights or blinking signs
Just limestone benches, empty seats that host green moss and creeping vines
The solitude speaks volumes to those travelers who wish to hear
The whispers of those days gone by that drift through time from yesteryear

Yet yesteryear is not so far when traveling upon this trail
For distances within the mind are simply hid beneath a veil
Of circumstance and rationale that holds us to the present time
And can be traveled easily through thoughtful prose and seamless rhyme

My longbow carried at my side I look behind me as I walk
And glimpse a shadow moving there with breechclout, spear and tomahawk
A shawl of buckskin on its back with fringe that hangs in strips of brown
It disappears among the trees like noiseless flows of thistle down

I sit upon the rock-strewn bank and listen closely to the sound
Of teamsters bringing oak bark shards to stock the tannery south of town
Their horse's hooves reverberate upon the dirt road near the foot
Descending down from Glade Pike Road, emitting clouds of brown bark soot

I once again take up the trail a simple archer with his bow
And think of those who walked before in autumn leaves and winter snow
I hear their laughter and their cries, their fight to live from day to day
With nothing granted from the skies, and nature's gifts their only pay

I contemplate how far we've come to this relatively easy life
And say a prayer of thanks to those whose days were filled with stress and strife
And though old times will once again be gone when I walk home today
There is no doubt that history is just a mountain trail away

Thank you, George. Well-done.

Quite poignent George, thank you.

Very nice.Thanks George

Real good read George. Thanks for sharing!  

Good one brother.  

A finger-hole in a cold biscuit filled with cane syrup, a hot cup of coffee, and who needs a good book with threads like this.

Contemplating...
is like milk, it does a body good.

Well done George.

I think two words say it all......Thank You.

You have a gift George! Thank's for the cool read, Jason

Hard to believe something that meaningful could come out of the mind of a  Crusty Curmudgeon!!

Well written George.