From Cynthia Stamps.
Clouds cling and mist the mountain tops
the trees still cool and wanting
the green has failed to creep nonstop
there, winter’s still ‘a haunting..
have they lowered and come to stay
those mallow denizens of the sky
to crouch so low and envelope and play
and flow and creep and glide?..
the swirl grows deep upon the crest
kissed by fine white wisps
the raven, clouded in their nests
are blinded by the mist..
high mountain roads that disappear
their private world remains
evaporating views – the clouds so near
ingulfed by pelting rains..
the white of clouds and blossoms meet
fog instills the orchards ground
the sight confounds the mind to greet
whirling mist that settles ’round..
scudding clouds that hide the ridge
and dip down valleys gorge
wander over fields and ledge
that stonewalls love to forge..
a dancing ceiling of clouds so gray
with rain remains a promise’d ride
sunlight’s shafts a glimpse for May
but now, the mountain’s clouds, a tide..
© Cynthia Stamps. 2007.