Old,
old am I.
Seated up high,
high on this cliff.
I’ve seen much,
much more than you know.
Secrets I hold, secrets to keep.

Beaten and torn,
ravaged by time,
my body does show,
wounds of long life.
Of life and death,
my soul does know,
for year after year,
parts of me die, yet other parts grow.
Fire and Ice, have left their mark,
yet sun and rain, have given me life.

Friends I have known, though few they have been:
The eagles fly by, or nest below.
Newborns each year, learn to fly.
Once before, an Indian boy,
would sit alone, carving his stone.
I’ve watched the elk rut, and lions on hunt.
Yet few have seen, few even know,
that I am up here, rooted in stone.

Far below,
my brother fell.
To root in the earth,
instead of stone.
Much taller is he,
but stronger…