The Tamaracks of gold, like the ancients of old, since the beginning of time,
Along with aspen leaves, released from trees for they have passed their prime,
The whisper of change across the range, of all none are barred,
Living on chance, a brief glance, a short dance, the changing of the guard.
In the brisk dawn air, there is a flare of bugles to announce their plight
They challenge the dawn, no right or wrong as they sing through the night.
The experience of age, with each turning page, wisdom, defiance and truth
With the young’s endurance, and no assurance that tease and inflate the youth
It is an ancient dance, bulls taking stance, living without regard,
The giving of life, the yielding to death, the changing of the guard.
Who dares to glance at the mature bull’s dance, a satellite on the edge,
Watching and waiting aggravating a herd bull’s heated pledge,
Young trees scarred, ripped and marred their bark hold the sign
Of brutal force, running its course as limb and antler entwine,
While out on the ridge, building a bridge of nature and man,
The success of it all, large and small, lays within one’s hand.
Telling the story of triumph and glory as if written upon a marquise
While telltale signs of hard times are whispers in the breeze.
As youth and old, like ancients been told, challenges each other hard,
Across the land a boy and man stand, they watch the changing of the guard.
Like whispers on the wind, man’s words transcend to a boy yet to learn
To be a part of life’s living heart, for we all take a turn
With the wisdom of old, the youth acting bold, traditions handed down
To respect this place and leave no trace, yet old memories can be found.
If we do our best within each quest and teach truth unmarred,
Triumph or mistake we all partake the changing of the guard.