A Day For Watching Mountains

Willowed winds in darkness weeping

For the night in it’s wet appetite

Lashing hapless forest in furious passion

Dancing in erratic languages

Are those boughs spelling nameless runes

Between the sky and ground

As rivers froth in wild abandon

Arising from their stony beds of whisper

To roar and thunder from the valley’s mouth

Those ancient songs of erosion

Yet follow that old channel down-stream

As the young exuberant tumble of heights

Gives way to swaying reeds and stillness

Where patient Mother Ocean gathers wayward waters

In her ample embrace

And there you will find this thoughtful poet

Who sits in a humid puddle of ink

Contemplating those mountains black and blue

Beaten by tempests of time

And using her pages

To dance in the raindrops

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