Don't Drink Bees

On the top of the world
The Balds
Sprinkled with
Catawba rhododendron pinks
Orange Flaming azaleas
And yellow wild flowers

Wind whistling through
Tightly held branches of blue spruces
And through loosely laid meadow grasses

Invisible birds sing
Sweetly, sharply, audibly
Above the constant rush of wind
Which they seek shelter from
In the flowing blades

A trail moves across the Balds
As the shadows of clouds
Which seem to materialize
Above a lushly dark
Roan Mountain
Forested with spruces and firs

Over hill after hill
I follow the path
Each view before me more intoxicating
More beautiful than the last
I am lured to follow
The Appalachian Trail to its very end
Many states away

I could walk on
Fed only by this scenery
Forever