My Mountain Home

August 24, 2013

The smell of spruce

The glistening fir

The cloudy cool

I know for sure

The gentle rain

It fills the air

It cleans the earth

It damps my hair

The mountains sigh

With refreshing need

I face the heavens

My soul it feeds

We're washed anew

We're cleansed as one

I smile to heaven

I wait for the sun

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.