The mountains were clad, today,
In a Jester's Motley,
Dark and light.
And the spine of each ridge
clearly delineated
Where the sun had warmed
The green, growing Earth,
And where last night's snow
Still dusted the shadows - a shroud
Awaiting its death
At the turning of the day.
In a Jester's Motley,
Dark and light.
And the spine of each ridge
clearly delineated
Where the sun had warmed
The green, growing Earth,
And where last night's snow
Still dusted the shadows - a shroud
Awaiting its death
At the turning of the day.