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Canyon Nation
© January 6, 2008, Roy Stucky

Aged winds have overpassed.
Dust has drifted shut their pride.
Temple stones will crumble last,
Broken bones where fighters died.

The spinning wheel of daily sun
Turns the thread that fits the loom.
Centuries once joined as one
Weave the cloak that drapes this tomb.

Rivers ripple sparkling grains,
Flashing out the passing time.
Layers sliced in narrow veins,
Marking off our long decline.

You think that it won't happen,
That your nation fades away -
At least not in your day.
You think that it won't happen,
Like these relics thought before -
That your nation is no more.