Out in the hills, a cave we found,
High on a hill, with views around
That covered many miles of land,
Had a floor composed of sand.
The ceiling was a sooty black,
From cooking fires and in back,
There was a pile of bones we knew
Came from birds and animals too.
No odor but the smell of smoke
And the atmosphere there spoke
Of Indian people passing through,
Who sheltered here, as travelers do.
We lingered there, absorbing all
The atmosphere and I recall,
A feeling of affinity
For what life in those times might be!
We merely sat awhile to share
The sense of history felt there
And going, only left about
Our footsteps, trailing in and out!
Betty Lou Hebert
[This message has been edited by Trillium (07-19-2006 01:48 PM).]