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Pristine Pondering

What were my eyes searching for
As we sat awhile above the crowd?
Taking in the freedom’s wind
Forming shapes from timid clouds

I cast my cares
to the brisk mountain air
In hopes that I might see
What hunter’s eyes
had not yet spied
in curiosity

I asked myself
is there such a place
In the deepest patch of wood?
Where human hands
have not yet touched
And avid feet have not yet stood?

A place the axe has ne’er been rung
Or a bullet’s aim has failed
Beyond the azure lakes and streams
Where a child’s boat has sailed

A place in which the artist’s brush
Has not been quick to spy
Where nature reveals her handiwork
Unknown to human eye

Where boughs remain unbroken
And peace is ever still
A part of life we have yet to find
And perhaps we never will

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