Cristina

Volcanic mists drift
downward
palliative and pure
they resonate with her
warm heart
that lass who
is demure
inclined to wild outpourings
but gentle as a breeze
that accompanies
a sun lit glance
that dances through
the trees
The Eucalyptus
rustle
their leaves
of myriad hue’s
she wanders
through the patchwork quilt
of fields
such wondrous views
grab the soul
and sanctify
for she must never lose
her footing on these
high crags
she just does effuse
a joy, for with her babies
pulling at her blouse
she sucks in all that
crisp fresh air
and her passion does arouse
I met her on the mountains
whistling a tune
high up in the Andes
where the Condor’s sometimes
croon
desolate and rugged
those mountains thereabout
dutiful and beautiful
leaving me, in little doubt.
of her strength and true sincerity
of her will and true desire
to rise to any challenge
and readily inspire