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A Dream of Ancient Tahoe Shorelines
The Tahoe shoreline town of these silent lake view days,
Old Tahoma, where we lived, bluer bluer than sky,
some mysterious coves here, and pools of silent bays
where pine slow streams of melted now cries.
To wish to be in Florence when unveiled
these brilliant carvings on a golden door
the scent of perfection was then inhaled
from fumes of freshly painted canvas floors.
Each color was so heavenly detailed
with shade of genius, great attentions care,
a population raised on love and art,
when God and work were one, to never part.
As we make our way to home, a day in the hot sand,
we cool under Lodgepole pine and know the truest peace,
a place to worship beauty, our feet on sacred ground,
this Tahoe home to sway our pace.
To dream of this time of Renaissance
when form and function served a greater cause
then beauty never was a non-chalance,
when beauty found in natural laws
expressed their joy and gratitudes response,
a love of God to put past man's own pause
and bring the grace of heaven to this Earth
to deeply ponder everyman's own work.
So many histories are, and many here to lose,
here buried quickly, deeply, my spirit and the lake,
my childhood Manzanita, underbrush lie the places,
a lake childhood never forsaken.
Yet when I wake I find myself in tears
where does a person go to see great height
early effort seems to be an act of fear
all subtle colors fallen from my sight
to yearn to see eternity appear
to stop this life of constant fight or flight
this is no country for the very young
each aged man from mountains sing and sing.