The Fault
Beyond, up from my house, not far away,
and stretched as wide across as I can see
from north to south -there ever on display -
are mountains that have stood unfailingly
for centuries, magnificent and stout.
They rise sublime in snow-capped splendor through
the winter time. In fall, bright colors sprout
from land that upward sweeps till peaks meet blue.
A fault line runs beneath; it's said that soon
our hills will rupture! How can man combat
an earthquake? None who live here are immune,
for Nature does not think of things like that!
How beautiful those mountains! Eerily,
they possibly could be the death of me!
Sept. 19, 2020
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment