The Glen Poem by Jonathan Bellmann

Rolling hills and mountain streams adorned with green;
Blustery winds cold and wild flow over the glen unseen.
Howling through rocky cracks, it batters creatures big and small –
High aloft, and under jaw.
Each breath is taken clean and full with rich anticipation.
In its currents sweet aromas linger and play,
Some through ripples others in clay.
Lost in thought for awhile – no less—
Warm rays blanket my face; hinder my pace.
Shielded yet taunted I descend for a look;
Beyond this ridge lies a mist shrouded brook.
Out of the mist and arched like a serpent,
A bridge built of mortar and stone lies cold—silent—forgotten.
A relic whose purpose not known - from whom was this life sown?
Strong and foreboding it guards an angelic meadow
Of mosses, thickets and grasses –
Resistant to pain undaunted by rain
No matter how it harasses.
Beneath its arches the brook runs free,
Scowling fierce like a lion swirling—untamed;
She moves as she pleases nourished by the mountain
Like lilies in a fountain.
She carves her niche and widens her reach
As she passes through the most insignificant breach.
Lavishly adorned with color, plants fed by her waters
Thrive all the same –
Resilient to weather and treading of leather.
Away from the stream I now abide
Taking all that I saw in stride.
Cool and brisk the wind remains
With grateful ear I hear its moans
Echoing off these walls of stone
With clear symphonic tones.
Climbing the hills and mountain green,
I survey all that I have seen.
Caught between opposing ridges a valley lies—
A peaceful place –-
Free from man’s wanton pace—
A respite from worry, pride and snares
This glen of green is not a dream,
But a haven for the masses when all else harasses;
God’s grace you will see,
A free gift for you for me.
Remember your visit take time to review –
For our tomorrows are few.