Shaped like the Old Indian Chief of Yore.
Seemingly sleeping and able to ignore
The sounds of man invading his Earth
Who is searching for a spiritual rebirth.
Those magic mountains, so tall and erect they
Rising majestically over the land.
Magic Mountains bathed in the shadowed moon,
While at their feet lies a sleepy lagoon.
God's wondrous sky so clear and expanse.
Where the stars seem to fairly dance.
Night's sweet ecstasy will give way soon.
To dawn on Magic Mountains and the blue lagoon.
Until that time I will revel in the simple
Almost as if I were on sentry duty.
The air will blanket us with cool splendor.
The gentle breeze's touch will be so tender.
But true, this marvelous interlude
With quiet, peace and solitude.
Will be dashed against the hustle and the bustle
Of a new and promising day's tussle.
But before I surrender this moment of joy
I will Thank God in the prayer I employ.
That the gorgeous mountains will endeavor
To watch over God's promised land forever.
Carol G Oliverę