Craig j Dye
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My love is like a mountain in its bliss.
It knows the spring nights and the flower’s kiss.
It knows the summer heat and autumn rain.
It watches winter freeze and thaw again.
With eyes that see the time that only clouds
Know how to mark above the twisted crowds
Of all the trees the mountain sees and knows,
As well as Devil’s Club and his Wild Rose.
And it forgives the fire and its pain.
And it forgives the all-eroding rain.
And it accepts the Green Man’s Fathers’ voice.
And it accepts the cascade and its choice.
My love is like a mountain in its ...