Clouds

Clouds over the mountains,
So high in the air.
Pressing against the peaks,
Like fluffs in their hair.

White granite rising,
So rugged and tall.
Slide rocks running up,
To the slant of their fall.

Stately are the pine trees,
All nestled below.
Where erosion has carved,
And gulch bushes grow.

Crevices stand jagged,
All round the rim.
And hawks in their flight,
Circle and skim.

T'is beautiful to see,
As men sets their eyes.
Surveying the splendor,
Adrift in the skies.

E.P. 1908 - 1989