Funny this Colorado mountain trail

rambling like cows carved out its predecessor

along this lake reflecting never-melting snow

on summer peaks or winter still up there.

Where 20 miles away a 19th century cemetery

houses old ladies at thirty,

babies barely old enough for names,

teenage flu victims,

and husbands dead below this rock.

 

It’s funny as I trek this trail

a tiny wooden cross proclaims, “Dyke’s Trail.”

Was it named for Wilford Dyke possibly

buried in an unmarked grave in the cemetery

or overlooking this pristine peace?

Or a modern folklore to a group of women

hiking out of the valley to stand atop mountains

united with the earth no matter

how high, how low, how buried?

 


Diane Webster’s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase and to write.Diane enjoys the challenge of transforming images into words to fit her poems. Her work has appeared in “Philadelphia Poets,” “Old Red Kimono,” “Home Planet News Online” and other literary magazines.