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| Wilbur T. Braithwaite ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
The night falls swiftly, silently on Skyline's nestled, east-slope lakes.
A shifting breeze blows aimlessly. A native trout, fresh larva takes.
From Miller's Flat to Ollie's Pond,
A calm envelopes snow-banked peaks.
A coyote calls its mate to bond.
An east-bound jet paints ribbon streaks.
From Musinea to Horseshoes' bend, God's night-time lights begin to glow.
Celestial stars soft streamers send From far-off worlds to all below.
Night's darkness masks arrays of flowers.
The rich, black soil has nurtured fair.
White columbines grace needle bowers.
The wind-bent pines have sheltered there.
A full moon over Heliotroop casts silver beads on Baldy's cape;
While Ferron Reservoir on Skyline's loop now mirrors back in oval shape.
Buck Ridge and Logger are serene,
The deer and elk have bedded down.
North Fork and Jolley's, summer green,
Are waiting now for night to crown.
On Twelve Mile Flat faint campfires gleam,
Their blue-green flames are ebbing out.
These nature lovers soon shall dream Of wondrous beauties hereabout.
In northern skies the dippers nod,
Yet the North Star will never roam.
Steadfast it points us up to God, From His terrestrial Skyline home.
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