Along with stories, I have for most of my life, enjoyed writing poetry. Some ok, some bad, some terrible, and once in a long while, a winner. You be the judge, and please leave constructive feed back.

Monday, December 8, 2014

On Calhoun Mountain

On top of Calhoun mountain,
Blows a cold and lonesome wind.
It moans in the naked treetops.
Like a spirit who has no friends.
It flows up the frozen valley,
And finds me in this place.
It's knife-like fingers caress me,
And cut at my cold, cold face.
On top of Calhoun mountain,
The darkness fades toward dawn.
Pink clouds over eastward.
Tell me the day is coming on.
As I sit here in the stillness,
And the bright stars start to fade.
A rooster in the distance
Is crowing in the day.
On top of Calhoun mountain,
There is snow upon the ground.
The windswept peak is drifted
The snow is swirling around.
The birds which had been huddled,
Beneath the limbs bowed low.
Are stirring with the morning light
And fluttering to and fro.
On top of Calhoun mountain,,
Where the wind blows and sighs.
It's cold and clear and lonely ,
And lovely to my eyes.
On top of Calhoun mountain,
Is a distant, lonely place.
It's my lonesome jubilee
A place of peace and grace

(c) James Lee Frady 12/8/2014

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