Original Poetry by Roger Ewing


In the meadows

above timberline

little rivers flow

from melting snow

on granite,

looking not unlike

the lights of town.

Only jets fly here

and trains of Canada geese

going home.

Silver wings turned gold

from the days setting sun.

Firing homeward

through low pressure zones,


with each sweep of wings.


in perfect northern flight.

How the nights must linger on

for sleepy honkers and creaking jet liners.

Copyright © 1975 by Roger Patrick Ewing, all rights reserved.


4 responses to “Original Poetry by Roger Ewing

  1. Hi Roger,
    this is very nice! Thank you for sharing.

  2. I can just picture you sitting there at twilight. Makes ya want to be there! Fabulous imagery and peaceful poetry. Thanks for sharing.~D

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