Brenn Hill

On Avon

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On the leeward side of the Avons
Where the sun breaks over the ridge
There's a trail I like to ride on
No pavement, traffic, or bridge
And out across the flat
By the pond and through the grove
I break off to the left up a snowy little cove
And Rondo breathes hard at the trot
And I spur him all the way
So that we can make the mountaintop just before
Where there, below the pines, by noon I tie him off
And sit upon the big gray rock
And find the graceful hawk
That flies through every draw and grove
Searching for his prey
And I sit there in his mountain home
To steal part of his day
His home of mountain majesty
Where cattle freely roam
And storms that rage so wildly
That it can't be called a home
I've seen this land from every nook
And every worn-in trail
But I've never seen it up from where the mighty hawk
can sail
And I can hear him calling
Once, twice, and then he's gone
And it breaks the mountain silence with a haunting,
longing song
As Rondo eats his grain I brought
To give him for the ride
And me, a tuna sandwich
That cures the pain inside
The hawk takes roost upon a limb
And we all dine together
As he rests the wings that cut the winds that rustle
through his feathers
To live
He hunts again
And calls his haunting cry
And it sets the scene and space for where a man would
wish to die
When later, Rondo turns for home, as the hawk is
finally gone
To fly again
So far and free
Like me
Upon the Avon