Voices Of The Mountains Poem by Natasa To

From east to west the ranges rise,

Beneath the vast American skies—

Old whispers echo, strong and deep,

Where ancient stones and secrets sleep.



In Appalachia, soft and worn,

By time and rain and forests torn,

The hills still hum a lullaby

Of pioneers and eagle cry.



The Rockies stand with rugged grace,

Snow crowns each titan's weathered face.

Their peaks pierce through the western light,

Like spires that guard the edge of night.



Sierra's spine in sunset flame,

Once called by tribes with sacred name—

Now trails wind through pines and gold,

Where tales of bold explorers hold.



And in Alaska, vast and wild,

Denali rises, fierce and styled

In silence cold and star-washed blue,

A throne of gods the north winds knew.



O mountains proud, so grand, so free,

You are the bones of liberty—

The soul of lands both wild and wide,

Where dreams still climb and hopes abide.