book poem

eagles glide over mauve mountains

and two chairs with cozy blankets

meant for nestling by a campfire

await

on the edge of a pine tree forest

beside the rocky cliffs

above the blue winding river that sings

in the stillness of nearing twilight

they follow the trail to their nestling place

anticipating decline, but still unready

for the force of the wounding scene —

the chairs are faded and rickety now,

blankets muddy and frayed humpty dumpty little star how are you

vestiges of too many years