The Legend of Darcy Farrow   Down in the Carson Valley where the Truckee River runs rancher Dundee had a daughter whose beauty was well known.  Along the banks of the river where settlers pitched their camps she was called the fairest of flowers that bloomed throughout the West.  On the streets of Virginia City where the older men played checkers stories were told about her charm and about her boundless courage,  the aid she gave to strangers, the comfort offered to neighbors without a thought of recompense, with never a word of complaint. The eldest son of the Vandermeers had loved her since their childhood, and she had promised to marry him before the winter storms. Early one autumn morning below the rays of dawn she rode out on her pinto pony to a cattle ranch nearby to aid and assist the rancher’s wife giving birth to their first child, braving the cold and bitter wind that swept across the plain. Just as she caught sight of the pastures, just as her journey neared its end along the mountain’s narrow pass her pony slipped and fell.  Darcy plunged to the rocks below never to revive. Neighbors found her later that day broken upon the stones, wept heads bent then lifted her up as if she was their own and like a fallen warrior carried her home in a long cortege. Young Vandy slipped into deep depression upon hearing the terrible news, took his silver Colt revolver and shot himself in the heart. Two families had lost their beautiful children. Two families suffered unspeakable woe. Near the banks of the Truckee River they buried them together beneath the snow. Seldom are stories of such tragedy told. Seldom do stories survive the years; but on many a street in Virginia City,  Darcy Farrow’s tale lives on.     © 2008 John M. Marshall   Based on a folk song by Steve Gillette & Tom Campbell         Three Lives Converged  (At the Grand Canyon with Scooter and Liz)     We walked to the altar of the cathedral of stone, as through its halls the wolves’ song rang. Like an angel an eagle soared high above Wotan’s Throne.   Below us the river like foaming fountains christened the Earth and its mystical mountains- man and woman and man’s best friend, alone with God and His granite garden.   Shadows of clouds in slow motion moved across the face of the sculptured rock. Time disappeared in the silent fusion of Heaven’s cape with the canyon’s cloak.   Hand in hand of love we spoke, of loyalty, faith and enduring trust. Prayers we offered to the world as gifts returned as snow in the evening mist.   Beyond the peaks the setting sun streaked the sky with its scarlet rays. We called from the cliffs the sacred names of the mother of nights and the father of days.   Upon the frame of the cosmic loom three souls among the stars were spun. Upon the banks of the rainbow’s flume three lives converged and became as one.     © 1994 John M. Marshall                   Rain       Within the sun and cloud shaped halls of ancient, sculptured windswept walls you were waiting for me to find you.   Among the nubile nymphs and fawns wrapped in the raiment of vernal dawns you were waiting for me to see you;   and so I came like a child of night into your eternal, ethereal light; as you in silence and starry lace illumined my path to humility.   Upon the mossy, marbled floor where like rain you draped your hair you were waiting for me to touch you.   Beyond the dark and mystic door where stark and cryptic dreams appear you were waiting for me to find you;   and so I came like a child of night into your eternal, ethereal light; as you in silence and simplest grace illumined my path to serenity.       ©1993 John M. Marshall