Home On The Mountains... Poem by Rey Sanidad

How still it is here in this colored mountains.
The trees stand motionless, as if they did not dare
To stir, lest it should break the spell.
The air hangs quiet as spaces in a marble freeze.

Even this little brook, that runs at ease,
Whispering and gurgling in its knotted bed,
Seems but to deepen with its curling thread
Of sound the shadowy sun-pierced silences.

Sometimes an eagle screams or a woodpecker
Startles the stillness from its fixed mood
With his loud careless tap.

Sometimes I hear..
The dreamy white-throat from some far off tree
Pipe slowly on the listening solitude
His five pure notes succeeding pensively.