(Neath Thy Mountains ) 

There are those mountains,

With pumis rocks underlying their surface,

Steep slopes; Thawing winds and thick humidity,

Fog, mists brew; Volcanoes overly extinct.

There are thosemountains,

Small scrubs and few plants; Monkeys and wild fruits,

Down the slope; Mass wasting of debris,

Pebbles settles gently.

There are those mountains,

Stream of water, fresh flows beneath; Snakes innocently creep,

Birds chirping in the atmosphere; We made home here,

Neatly fenced with umbrella trees.

A house desolately stands erect; An old woman gathers wood,

Cocks, hens, in their pens; Dogs in their kennels,

Car packed on the road; Home at last I am,

Neath the mountain hills in Africa, 

there’s always a home to go back to.

***

As written by Phill Ibsen 

( Master Of Descriptions ) 

A Heart_Art_Poetics productions