A wreath of beams illumes the auroral hour
when the wolf dozes but the falcon, sentineling and peckish,
espies its repaste scudding far below unknowingly in vain.
Necklaced lakes reflect the light to keep it
from penetrating to the depths of their secrets
accumulated as sediment, the aggregate of generations.
The seasonable breeze tickles petals of every
texture, contour, and tint amid a florescence
ornamenting with loveliness the valleys.
Along the undulating vertebrae of peaks mortals
trek and wend, clambering to oversee vistas,
learning the land, sifting dirt hot in pursuit of roots.
They scan the horizon then probe the heavens
seeking insights scarcer than grapes in the wilderness,
inspirited to uphold their duty as legatees.