Another Poet's Table?

Today I made my first ever attempt at finding Poet's Table.  It's kind of a rite of passage when you find it for the first time.  Cara and I set out mid-morning with local knowledge of how to get there and made a few stabs at it.

Alas, we were unsuccessful.  So we made our own Poet's Table.  We enjoyed hot mulled wine with the sun on our faces and I even read a poem.  I can't imagine the view from the actual Poet's Table could be much better.

And now, here is a poem- different from the one I read atop the hill but much more to the point of the day:

The Black Hills Called

The Black Hills called and thus came I,

By poems I hope to glorify

The Hills I found. Just give me voice

To sing to Hills that beautify.

The blue-green pines that fade the sky

To hazy hues I see on high.

I stare. I have no other choice-

     The Black Hills called.

They make me glad . . . the Hills I spy:

I hear the woods and their lullaby.

I hear the woods and there rejoice

A Black Hills home- undying choice.

I'll there remain until I die

     The Black Hills called.

     --by Edward F. Sunderberg