Mountains Of Morn Poem by Owen Cullimore

They stand proud and high
As if they reach right up to the sky
Their peaks covered with all year round snow
Though it melts in the Sun, it is very slow
See the marks where Angels ski
Out of sight of you and me
Those large footprints left behind
By an animal of some kind
Could it be from a Yeti, a mysterious Fable
Who people have tried to find when they have been able
But the Mountains are mysterious places
All shapes and sizes, some resembling faces
And the streams that start from their springs on high
Trundle downward, gathering pace when on the fly
As the water flows and winds it's merry way down to the valley below
Being a mixture of Rain and melting Snow
But the Mountains will always remain aloof
As they watch the scene, just living proof
The early morning, a great time to catch the picture
Of Mountains, Snow, running Stream, a piece of nature's own made mixture