The Mountains

High to the tops of snow they abound,
Reaching like spires to the heavens
Beauteous and all aglow with this
Transpired snow,
Radiance of beams crystallizing the
Sparkles of time,
God's will to man defies all presence of
Being to nature
He, who is to be, shall be on the
Mountains free

by Geraldine Cutler

Other poems of GERALDINE CUTLER (4)

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