Bad Poetry

In the Valley

The earth cradles us in her hands
there in the valley.
The wind whispers to us secrets of old
there in the valley.
The setting sun traces fiery bands
there in the valley.
The streams sing, the aspens talk, the magpies scold
there in the valley.

The home is built of hill and glade
there in the valley.
The creatures forget the touch of man
there in the valley.
The songs and tales of love are made
there is the valley.
And I dwell gladly while I can
here in the valley.

Sunrise

Behind my eyes
I see the sunrise.
At dawn’s first ray
so far away,
and await the black
to bring you back
in my mind,
though left behind.

I think my brain is turning to mush.