Ethereal Moments The Poetry of Donavon Scott Vinson
Death On The Trail
Wailing winds scream across the open plains,
a dazzling hot sun deep fries exposed skin,
wagon wheels eerily creak upon the dusty trail,
a poor little waif cries for water to quench
his over bearing and life threatening thirst,
all who follow the old guide along the old rocky
trail wallow in the self pity of the eternally
lost and lie upon parched ground of the damned.
Donavon Scott Vinson