Faye Sizemore


Thick pine needles carpet the path
… silencing the footfalls
of those who will come after
From the first to the last traveler
the path has become well worn
With memories… it is adorned
Old arrowheads are still found
where game does abound
Rest awhile in the pine’s shade
and revere the ones passing before
Passing on the way to and from war
Copper-skinned warriors… taken by time
… passing this way no more…
but I sense them here again… sometimes…
in the cool darkness of Carolina’s pines…

Table Rock Trail