Down in Badlands Park,
is a campground without a tourist’s mark,
beyond which rises the high scarp
of Sharpshooters Peak.

And if you rise,
under the star-spangled dark skies,
long before the cold dew dries,
you’ll see God’s very best sunrise.

First the tainted light plays,
in the far, dark purple haze,
pushed by the endless days,
riding on the sun’s sharp rays.

Then a lighter saffron tinge,
giving way to an orange binge;
for a moment this is the hinge
the day’s swinging door,
upon the ridge.

Bright reds and gold,
as the day becomes more bold
and night loosens her hold;
for this instant, my sleep I sold.

Now the pink clouds drift,
and my spirit lifts
leaving me memories to sift.
Thank you God, for this gift.


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