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November 27, 2020

Blaze of Glory

a rendezvous of the kindred spirits
those who speak of valleys with bountiful treasures

motherlodes of gold hidden in mountains 

old crinkly maps showing the way

how do I know what these western hieroglyphics say?

on this cold, January, February, whatever it is day

sitting in the lean-to warming by a crackling fire

dead wood going out in a blaze of glory

we should all be so lucky

hot cup of coffee to thaw out the body

tastes good, mighty good

some jerky to chew on

horses wearing their Indian made blankets 

chowing on some oats not made by quakers 

swappin’ tales not tails of their riders adventures 

storm movin’ in afternoon gloom

mountain tops hidden by gray clouds blowin’ snow

chill biting my cheek and nose

getting old - feel the cold in my bones

wind coming up - beads banging together

getting mighty uncomfortable now

growing darker - put some hot coals down

under dirt to lay on and keep warm sleeping 

in the morning saddle up the horses and move on

lonesome man among the pines and deep snow

wonders how much longer he can do this

death coming into town on the 4:20 someday

reaper station; you don’t find it, it finds you

maybe you die frozen in some snowbank

not so bad - like going to sleep they say