The mountain white
The mountain white
Blue Sky’s abound
Clouds all around
Trees circle it for miles and miles
Jagged cliffs, rocky paths
Rivers roar on sandy floors
Whispering winds blow through the air
The sound of spirits who now live there
A beauty all of its own
A cool serene, a quiet calm
A place so far away to which I’m drawn
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| ME | 0 | 09/03/2009 |
| Music man | 0 | 08/27/2009 |
| The mountain white | 0 | 08/27/2009 |
| A wolf in sheeps clothing | 0 | 08/24/2009 |
| No Memory | 0 | 08/24/2009 |
| Caged | 1 | 08/24/2009 |
| So Beautiful So Sad | 3 | 08/23/2009 |
| Porcelian Doll | 0 | 08/23/2009 |
| Distant Doorways | 1 | 08/23/2009 |
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