My soul’s not bound to surf and sand,
but rather to much wilder land
where mountain peaks reach to the sky;
That’s where my spirit loves to fly.
Where treetops disappear in mist
and fingertips frosts cold has kissed.
On mountain tops and High Plains wild
I‘m humbled as a new-born child.
Those lands are where the Gods repose
and where Earth’s lifeblood swiftly flows
down crystal brook and tumbling creek
to find the lowlands that they seek.
The flatlands where the crops all grow
fed by the mountains lifeblood flow.
But while the flatlands may sustain me,
it’s the mountain airs that set me free
and lifts my spirit through the cloud;
reminds me that I’m strong and proud.
For I’m stronger when I chance to go
up where the clouds merge with the snow.
It’s up there where the air is sharp
close to the Angels; wing and harp,
up high above the giant Ash
with freezing air and winds that lash.
It’s there my Spirit flies again
to remind me of the old days when
I lived up there on highest plain;
That place that kept my whole world sane.
Hello cruel world, I’m here to join this circus.
- Follow a foolhardy florilegium on WordPress.com
Select a category
- 3,929 hits