Echoes of the Valley

Valleys high and valleys low,
Water moves as time flows—
A silent river carving stone,
Carrying moments we can’t own.

Fading whispers of weathered bones,
Echoing secrets to mossy tones,
Where ancient voices softly moan
Through emerald cloaks and twilight zones.

Etched in stone, ike resides,
Roots atone and aina sighs,
The old earth hums its lullabies,
Of lives returned and love that dies.

Head down, sight dims,
The world grows quiet, the clamor thins.
Intentions guide from what’s within—
A steady flame no dark can spin.

Beneath the weight of sky and loam,
We walk these valleys as our home,
Where time and bone and spirit roam,
And every ending births its poem.

A hui hou,
Mahalo 🙏

Michael W Kyser Jr