Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow,
Through the darkness of this smog-ridden concrete city,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.
The voices voyage through valleys high and low
Inviting me to green meadows with flowers so pretty
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow.
To a peaceful place where fresh, cool winds blow,
Where there’s no space for stress and negativity,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.
The mountains hold the warmth of the sun’s rosy glow,
And the leaves in the trees whisper a slow and soft ditty
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow.
The winding trails reveal secrets I long to know.
As I seek to break through the hopelessness and self-pity,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.
This monotonous city life is so dreary and hollow
Like a drive on an unending desert trail that’s gritty.
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.
PS: This poem is a Villanelle
wordsofhope 