The rolling skies stretch far,
Torn by clouds that smear the blue canvas

Huge peaks jagged,
are tipped with fiery snow

Among the encircling mountains,
one peak harbours blossoms

Sprouting pink over grey,
from cliffs otherwise bare

In the midst of pink sits,
a lone soul with a zither

She is covered in white,
a robe that flows like silver

Like the torn clouds

Like the snow on the peaks

Like a mountain river

To whom does one play,
such a solemn tune?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s