We retrace the steps of ancients, climbing as the sun dips low.
Fathers guiding small sons. Older boys scaling crags. Grey sages helped by both.
Atop we light the fires. Sing to the mothers. To the maidens. To the crones.
They sing back.
From the hill beside us.
Choruses in equinox.
Copyright © 2019 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
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