Mist and haze of summer days
Clouds so low which hold our gaze
Along this road we lost our way
And now found home in the Smoky Maze
In the mountains we forget the days
The trees whisper away our names
Smoke forever clouds the face
And our music holds all meaning
This music picks the frogs and ticks
Strums out living thunder thick
With slaps of light to show our minds
God's creatures dancing with each chord
In the blue-green and high above
We see not out nor in by much
But know what holds our place:
The Misty Mount and her sober grace
Rock and slate and slipp'ry stone
Are only parts of the throne
Which holds the mountain man
Who alone hears God's brilliant plan
These are such beautiful words!
ReplyDelete