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Contribution
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GODDESS
OF THE MOUNTAIN- By Adam S. Morris
Completely silent, in expectant verse,
their heads, craned upwards, tell a tale,
Of those used to going from bad to worse.
And in the empty hills below,
The pasture, parted by a gurgling brook,
is home to the species here best known,
as sheep and cow and horse who look
up to man for their lifelong guidance.
And the crowd stare silent, awestruck upwards
as the rich hills glide to make a path:
An Angel, God sent, has touched the moors.
Her wings not visible to naked eye
Lift her high with unseen force,
Her cheeks, snow-soft, her head held high
Trailing her moves are a golden course.
Her lips a soft plumage on flawless skin,
those eyes deep and hopeful stare at at the people,
who yearn and who strive to feel her within.
She opens her mouth; a row of white teeth,
catch pods of sun that glare on the grass,
Such voice is emitted, full flinging an echo,
That is hit by the cliffs and shot by the hills.
So each living thing is forced to stand still.
Then slowly but surely, the hills shrink together,
Our Angel concealed, having finished her job.
Her path is recovered with brambles and heather,
the people, now thrilled, turn their heads up to God.
In sun and in shadow and light of the moon,
they pray to their Great One that someday, soon
the mountains that yearly they've all come to love
Should grow golden and special and glide to pair,
So that, for a second, they may glimpse what was there;
An Angel in light, striking infinite flare.
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