


Gray mountain
patchy sun;
broken tree
limbs
left undone.
Heavy winter sky;
hence today
I hear my sigh
I'm wishing...
that I had
strength (enough)
to patch to bend
to prop to lift
to rework
mountain trees;
some bent down
to their knees.
Harsh winter wind
ripping ice
hard pressed I am
(today) to find the nice
in you. I believe
I'd blacken
your eye;
for you've left
Fair~Mountain
Once~so~Green
alone
to stand
assaulted.
But the birds
still call with
great cheer and
strength of their
small (but) piercing
song to the
mountains:
"Make haste,
awaken the spring!"
Their chirping
song with echoes ring
of promise.
Lush green velvet
grass and foliage
of every fair green color;
shoot forth
soothe grow and cover,
the woods their
naked wounds
~~then summer.