The mountain peaks cast off their cloaks of dewy mist,
And stand revealed in the pure cold light of morn;
The shadows creep down the mountain to keep tryst
With night, to watch another day new-born.
The sun arising from his bed of rolling clouds
Imprints a burning kiss upon the virgin snows.
A roseate blush the mountain tops enshrouds,
While slowly with the pearly tint it glows.
Soon the mountain crags are bathed in golden showers,
And glorious soar and stand before Godβs face.
The birdβs song rings about the radiant flowers,
The sun is in the heavens, in his place.
Kronos992
2023-03-24 07:07:46 +0000 UTCErinthul
2023-02-24 22:00:33 +0000 UTCKevin
2023-02-24 10:02:54 +0000 UTCErinthul
2023-02-17 07:30:34 +0000 UTCErinthul
2023-02-17 07:30:20 +0000 UTCLogan
2023-02-15 20:52:57 +0000 UTCRuben Aguirre
2023-02-15 20:38:01 +0000 UTCSteven Niehaus
2023-02-15 20:04:25 +0000 UTC