THE GARDEN OF THE GODS

Our Native Americans believe it’s true:
So many secrets does that garden hold!
Was it the  home of  ancient Tribal Gods ?
Can we believe the tales the Old Ones told?

If the Juniper or the Cottontail,
Could speak... perhaps they’d say:
“We’ve lived here all these many years;
We’ve seen the Gods at work, at play”.

Legends tell of mysteries still hidden there,
Of cryptic, sacred, ceremonial rites,
Amidst those bold, fantastic shapes of stone,
That cast such eerie shades on moonlit nights.

It’s said that Indian Tribes of yesteryear,
Held Pow-Wows on that hallowed site.
Peace or war would be decided there,
Beneath those giant rocks of red and white.

Mystic forms of sandstone... stately, tall,
Carved by centuries of wind and rain,
To placate Mother Nature’s fickle whim.
Can we say how long they will so remain?

Two Camels that slyly steal a kiss,
A ships’ prow jutting towards the sky,
Monoliths that balance, precariously;
Such awesome sights evoke a tear, a sigh.
                                 
Do those fabled Gods still gather there?
In the dead of night their voices might be heard,
When the Great Chinook swirls his gentle wind
Through their Garden, which has so long endured.

Will the Gods command their Braves to take up arms?
To revenge, at last, the white man’s perfidy?
Or  will they say:  “Please grant our wish to be
Allowed to rest in peace...  eternally”.