The raw power beams forth just balanced by
The movement of the river.
The road next to the lapping waters slopes up.
The shade of the morning Sun continues all afternoon
In the shadow of the cliffs
From the waters view they mark the entrance to the valley
Like a single door swung closed of a double door opening
Half of a view that will come latter as the river cuts through mountains on either side
They are both home beauty and an imposing end
Of natures beauty in preparation to the mind and eye
For the scape of steel and glass set lower down on the opposing bank
In the hazy distance, a continual loosing view shed
To the meekly power of human efforts.
Four hundred feet in the air straight up
At the summers edge looking upon trees look like pillows to jump on
They hide the fallen rock scrapes that tumble to the water.
Here and there the markings of man etched, cut or cemented
Against the Palisades, are roads for feet or wheels.
Rolling low to high, and over your shoulder always to the West
The dark black stone and eagles perch sore the spirit impressed
Comfort protection from westerly gales that willy wall and mark
The waters that never seem to claw at the cliffs.
They defy time and make the present an event
By their immortal gaze across and beyond horizons
The Palisades parade at attention to the West,
And we walk or ride below the scale of unison