Poetry · 29. January 2025
Notes Left on a Mountain #5 Chilling sighs of pine trees; Their spines rustling with the breeze, Filling small paths with echoes of wandering. Towards the green's end, Souls are carried up to the mountains, With their heavy scent guiding the way. Thin air caresses rough stones; Dark colours turn into greyish wastelands, And the still horizon becomes weary. Reaching up, Looking down, Feeling everything In between the sky and valley.