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MOUNTAIN MIST.
Folder:
NATURE A gray ghost stealing over gray walls of granite,
Settling softly, lying gently on a verdent bed.
Stealing from the white peaks swaddled in the heavens,
Drifting from the regions where the mountain hides its head.
Damp and cool its curtains shroud the mountain valley,
Hide the rocks from vision, conceal daisies from the sight.
Palls of wetness clinging to the branches of the rata,
Dripping with the mist that is forerunner of the night.
Ferns,bush and grasses caressed by silken moisture,
Condensing on the foliage, refreshing with its fall.
Clearly through the vapour, lyrical and lovely,
Comes the silver ringing of the lonely bell-bird's call.
Vaguely from the bush muffled tinkling of the river
Rushing over rocks that are amorphous in the mist,
Flowing through twilight now descending on the valley,
Flowing from its birthplace that the cirrus billows kissed.
Muted mountain music haunts the tranquil valley
Surrendering itself unto the blanket of the night.
Mountain mist at sundown, quiet precipitation,
A vagabond that visits in the failing evening light.
What a stunningly marvellous poem. I love it. So evocative. I believed that I was really experiencing it with all my senses.
Do share more like this with us. Well done again!
F. Salphire
I love the images in this poem. What especially caught my eye was your description, "Muted mountain music." I could hear it in my head as it escaped entrapment of being ignored by people rushing too much and not taking the time for enjoying nature's wonders. Thanks for the wonderful, beautiful read.
A vagabond indeed! Mist encroaching on everything inside.
Completely dominant like man. Dominant for the moment.
Always yielding and encroaching ... yielding and encroaching ... an endless cycle. Billy