The Mountain
Writhes itself in clouds
Shyly blushing in its elegance

Pale tinted early morning
Empyreal reality touches
Lightly on the heart

Dew glistened webs
Across stout grasses
Between steep rocks

Lend other world
Mystic magic to
Fresh days dawn

Wild child of nature
Calls this her own
Fleet of foot

So gently touching
Upon the land
A fairies hand

So open heart
To this a dreams
Desire and let it


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