I fear I may wither with forgetfullness. So I pull these pages close about my ears Tiny, leafy limbs pale with impression. My pen a single flame to keep me warm like a beacon holding memory. Until I am able to go back to my lovely mountains, or until I am strong enough to bring their essence to the rest of these hungry people who long to remember the simplicity which lies beyond the cities inbred streets and the godliness which resides in us all. Poems transcribed and converted to HTML by Aaron Walker.
Corrections are more than welcome.
This page maintained by Aaron Walker . Comments are welcome. Last updated July 8, 1997.