My soul went to the mountains clean,
unfettered by the mind.
A wind - turned from the gilded plain
now drinking deep the ocean rain -
whistling through the valley green,
delivers me from time.
The Mountains rise and crash like waves,
in laughter at the Tides:
a frenzied chase around the world
the moon, that pale translucent pearl,
with crests that reach for heaven, crave,
Why hurry on, sweet crashing Sea,
Why rush? The Mountains ask.
Dear Mountain, you have much to learn
of seas and oceans, how they turn.
‘Tis not a frenzied chore for me,
but an unhurried task.
But you, the Ocean says, I see
are more laborious than me,
though you see such splendid heights
it takes ten thousand days and nights
to raise a peak, to break a crest
against the wind and fall to rest.
Indeed it does, the Mountain sighs,
and goes about it’s steady rise.
|Subject||2 × 2 cm, Aquarell|
|Paper||300g Water Color Paper|
|Dimensions||20 × 20 cm|