Ode to Pennsylvania Mountains

Snow-cloaked scene, Heaven touched as thou are,
How can thou barely kiss God, yet be so far?
Sliced skyline, thine haggard trees do tell
The tale of harsh Winter, the grove’s private Hell.
Away in the distance, too far to hear the call
Of thy brothers, who loathe thou growth; so tall.
With the Heavens so close, is it death thou seek?
Or is it the beauty of God, that makes thou so weak?

The mountains, much as I, yearn for an angel’s touch
To make thy looks eternal, not weathered as such.
The dying Winter’s glow takes thine life away from thee,
As much as Time changes the way us living see.
A maiden once youthful, her beauty radiating through,
Soon becomes a beast, the wrath of Time past due.
The Winter dragging thou away from the Heavens
Does the same as Time’s curse leavens?

Yet, after every shed, the mountains do produce
Beauty in green, after many a month’s abuse.
Heaven’s arms extend, a light in the desperate dark
Welcoming thou new growth, beauty that will embark.
If thine limbs do come back from the beating,
Will Time return and chase away the years, even fleeting?
Time, yes, comes around to steal our years,
But perhaps it is beauty, blessed by God’s tears.