NEATH THY MOUNTAINS

PRESTON:

There are those mountains.
Tall, huge mountains,
With pumis rocks underlying their surface,
Steep slopes,
Thawing winds and thick humidity,
Fog, mists brew,
Volcanoes overly extinct.


There are those mountains,
Beneath lies a hill,
Small scrubs and few plants,
Monkeys and wild fruits,
Down the slope;
Mass wasting of debris,
Pebbles settles gently.

There are those mountains,
Stream of water, fresh flows beneath,
Trees, forests clusters within,
Snakes innocently creep,
Birds chirping in the atmosphere,
We made home here,
Neatly fenced with umbrella trees.


There are those mountains,
From the road you can set a stare,
A house desolately stand erect,
An old woman slowly gathers wood,
Cocks, hens, in their pens,
Dogs in their kennels,
Car packed on the road,
Home at last I am,
Neath the mountain hills.

©Heart_Surgeon2017

beblogpreston.blogspot.com