MOUNTAIN MAID, MAIDEN MOUNT by Eric Rosenbloom copyright 2011 A wisp of a thing, a thought on the air That often it seems she isn’t there A touch of moisture, a stir in the breeze You see her passing in the leaves of trees The birds gather seeds
And people their deeds She rises and darkens in the mountain’s arms Colors with passion and furious alarms The dizzying heights now fill her with dread Now longing that knows no rest, no bed The birds gather seeds
And people their deeds His grip is tight, she cannot fly From fate and this his cruel eye To swoon upon his hardened crags And croon his hills and downy legs The birds gather seeds
And people their deeds He crouches beneath her, dark in her dark To know the journey he can’t embark In his craggy rocks and clinging firs That are in her, washed by all that’s hers The birds gather seeds
And people their deeds All that she has and strained to hold Bursts forth — she is of a sudden old Her color fades as her life runs down The rocks and trees that ring his crown The birds gather seeds
And people their deeds The waters gather and a river born Of a clash divine, of a spirit torn And the sun now shines and the valley sings And the river means so many things The birds gather seeds
And people their deeds The ocean calls his wandering daughter To lose herself in his circling water While the mountain looms with a fiery glare And calls forth another maid who was fair The birds gather seeds
And people their deeds |