On the Pulse of Morning

A Rock, A River, A TreeHosts to species long since departed,Marked the mastodon,The dinosaur, who left dried tokensOf their sojourn hereOn our planet floor,Any broad alarm of their hasteningdoomIs lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us,clearly, forcefully,Come, you may stand upon myBack and face your distant destiny,But seek no haven in my shadow.I will give you no hiding place downhere.

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Editor's note
April 19, 1993
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