The Road, Sky and Mountain
You watch as the pedals move
in a never ending circle,
twin wheels beat the pavement
The red bags hanging on the front
flap slowly in the pine scented breeze.
The sky is perfect
few puffy bright clouds
against the morning sun.
A hawk catches the first thermal,
spinning in the sky.
The whistle of a car's wheels behind
is followed by a quick rush of wind,
and the glint of the sun off the window.
The road is straight and narrow
unbending for miles.
Trees, needle thin, point to heaven,
yet the road points to the snow capped peak
never growing or shrinking as you pedal to it.
Submitted by the author, James C. Parsons
Copyright 1987, All Rights Reserved