Come Young Pirates, Holly, Mocán, Cedrus And Broom (38) Poem by Captain Cur

Candelabra's light, green mountain heights,
enmeshed with grand pine trees;
holly, mocán, cedrus and broom
scenting the morning breeze.
Waterfall's lunge, then course and plunge,
dispersing misty hues,
moisture drips from moss cottoned cliffs
into reflective pools.
Hanging ferns dream, reaching those springs,
jetting muscular spray
with leafy touch they droop and bunch
drenched by subtropical rain.

Mount Teide glows in eternal snow
with a smile carved in white;
here the sun sets in fiery rest
claiming that peak of ice.
Where violets hide, purpled on high,
between its rocky breast;
sets Teide at ease when it breathes
out its seasonal breath.
Nature boasts their vigorous growth
charmed by their colorful brays;
soft yellow eyed, feisty and wry,
against dark mountain grays.