Bold mountains stand like sentinels of old
And form a safety hedge around my home--
My castle, bathed in rhapsodies of gold
From cloudless skies, my never-ending poem.
And from my window I can see the light
Of Heaven shining off the mountainside.
Oh, what a glorious place for me to write
And fill my thoughts with wonders I canít hide:
Of harps of gold before the Saviorís throne,
While cherubim and seraphim on high
Will beat their snowy wings and cause a drone
That echoes through the brilliant summer sky
And mingles with the silk and silver song
Of angelsí voices raised in harmony.
While voices in my heart can sing along
The noises of this earth are lost to me.
And once my thoughts are bouncing off the moon,
I then can write with clarity and sight
And pen some bits of wisdom, for quite soon
Iíll write a poem like this. And then I might
Attempt to publish words that may inspire,
My gift of love for all who comprehend
The Man of God who saved us from the fire
And gave us hope that life will never end.
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