Mar 21, 2007

Rocking Chair Ridge

They say that the Ozark Mountains
Are full of folklore, legends, and tales
And there are passed souls that live in the shadows
That still haunt those forested trails
But the cabin that sits on the hillside
Looking out on a canyon so wide
Gives a peacefulness that is beyond description
Yet defines a mountainous pride
The soft pines blow in the breezes
Black eyed Susan's stare up at the sun
And the whippoorwill sings in the distance
As the deer- they silently run
The squirrels - they play in the treetops
Chirping in protest as strangers walk by
The catfish feed on the surface of the pond
Raising their whiskered heads to the sky
The bears diligently search for honey,
Berries or nuts on the ground
Yet this black giant is seldom witnessed by man
As it roams without making a sound
There is a mist or fog upon the hillside
In this place called Rocking Chair Ridge
Where the Boston sentinels sit there watching
Forming a limestone natural bridge
And the hummingbird sings, as he hastily feeds
The owl hoots all through the night
And God's presence is there on the mountain
His creation, his beacon, his light!

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