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Clouds glower at mountain ridges; stop, then lift their veils of rain and pass. |
| I dream Montana Clouds glower at mountain ridges; stop, then lift their veils of rain and pass. Pine welcomes mist while blades of grass green; yet; through all this I somehow know: I'm dreaming Montana: open meadows, thunder of hooves, howls from bowels of canyons, woods. Not gone, but fading as moon-filled nights wink out at dawn when the buzzing of a billion deeds not done, still wait. Why drown in streams of human plight, when in my bed I close my eyes. Unseen, I dream Montana. © Kåre Enga 31.agosto.2014 Could use a couple extra lines; but, oh, if I were Russell (the famous westerner) today... Original in "L'aura del Campo" |