The beauty of the mountains, on a California morning,
Lights and shadows playing on them, as the clouds go gently soaring.
The early morning haze in the canyons and the valleys,
Gives a purple tinge to all, to the hills, and to the gullies.
The shadows changing constantly as the clouds blanket the Earth,
As the sunlight plays its games, and the morning's moving forth.
The high desert is a treasure, in the California sun,
Tucked up high six thousand feet, to be shared by everyone.
3/06,2016
29 Palms Ca.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem