Purple mountains in the distance
rising pale above the hills
just before the sun goes setting
far beyond the rustic rills.
Eagles fly so high above them
blending with the twilight sky.
Do the mountains know my feelings,
when I laugh or when I cry?
When the morning rests in sunshine,
sparkling on the mountainside
and fog fingers from the mountain
wipe the eyes where tears have dried,
then I see the purple splendor
splashing on the mountain veil
and watch the mists of mystery
hide the baby nightingale.
© 2015 Freeda Baker Nichols