When I see red
I will not be a raging bull, a taunted thing,
nor think of blood, in anger spilt,
or throbbing in my temple's vein;
nor swollen eyes, shot through with tears,
or sorrow's crimson mottling;
but of these cliffs, this red rock shrine,
this canyon road that loathes the strain
we carry in our heavy packs.
Relax...
Relax...
Copyright 2008 Maggie Hudson All Rights Reserved
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