Seeley Swan Pathfinder -

by Elizabeth Done

Seeley-Swan High School, Grade 12

I know a place where the lilies do not thaw,

A place where beauty collides with all that is raw.

White petals extend past thick brush

Close by morning songs are sung by a thrush.

Breathing in adrenaline while mulies exhale steamy grunts

Never has it been about the hunts.

Where white lilies grow cow elk drop calves.

Sows guide cubs along narrow shale paths.

You can find me somewhere there about.

Most likely following a buck's route.

Is it wrong to breathe more than air,

To let the wind play with my hair?

At five thousand feet white lilie...