The mountains sing

by Ralkkai

The mountains sing their songs tonight.
They sing of memories of the sun as
it passes on to the other side.
They sing of a summer begun
and many summers long gone.
They sing of barefoot walks
and midnight talks.
They sign songs of sparrows
and songs of water, rolling over rocks.
They sing of families
who remember days gone
and who know days to come
like a road map to some all-knowing God.
The mountains tell tales
of murder and mundane
and of maniacal, legendary, insane.
They sing in harmonies
beyond my comprehension
but I am glad, none-the-less
to be here, in the audience
of the mountains as
they continue their sonnets.
Sweet memoirs from thee,
the mountains who know me.

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