Amidst the hues of grassy green
wildflowers peer in scanty folds
between the thistle, of blue-gray,
they drink not of the morning's dew
for it lingers less in drier air,
yet grow within the barren brae.
Scant fuchsia and amethyst shades
adorn the parched and dusty soil
below the mountain's rocky ledge,
where clouds of pink swirls linger
above the snow capped tips
as the sun slips atop its edge.
I stand beneath the crimson glow
as it brushes against small streams
reflecting, an iridescent salmon tinge
then fades within the shade
cast beneath scarcely grown pines
amongst the mountain's dinge.
July 29, 2019
Tricon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
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