Poems ✍️

IN the Shenandoah Valley, one rider gray and one rider blue, and the sun on the
riders wondering.
Piled in the Shenandoah, riders blue and riders gray, piled with shovels, one and
another, dust in the Shenandoah taking them quicker than mothers take children
done with play.
The blue nobody remembers, the gray nobody remembers, it's all old and old
nowadays in the Shenandoah.. . .
And all is young, a butter of dandelions slung on the turf, climbing blue flowers of
the wishing woodlands wondering: a midnight purple violet claims the sun among
old heads, among old dreams of repeating heads of a rider blue and a rider gray
in the Shenandoah.