"You and I clamber up the rough path,

drips gathered on lichen and granite.

The wind blows rain in our faces.

A dozen yards below our feet

the escarpment drops away.

I think of those secret lives forever hidden whose songs we will not hear.

From one end of this valley

to the other are nothing

but reasons to live."

 

Thomas R. Smith

 

“Escarpment Trail”