This is a poem written while sitting on a jagged rock at the beginning of the Appalachian Trail...High atop Blood mountain in Northeast Georgia.
~*~
There's a Tree High in the Mountains
There's a tree high in the mountains which once was just a tree
Now it stands and grows so proudly...has this new personality
The heart of it is showing with tightly bonded letters
It smiles like it is human although that doesn't matter
Only to these two lovers whose names immortalize
The initials of these spirits who made her bark their prize
She stands with force a plenty...their passion now she carries
Along with inner voices that spirits up and married
No legal words for riches and treasures etched in bark
Its a written word of promise and the passions with their spark
Its the sacred oath of lovers who share in natures way
The promises of hearts to hold with growing day to day
In a secret hidden cove where the rhododendron blooms
In the bowers of her foliage when the mighty thunder booms
In the spring or in the winters...in the fall when leaves turn gold
Their hearts immortal promise gives warmth to all the cold
Their tree is but the foothold and speaks of love so true
In the mountain cove for lovers...lives but, this silent clue
Of the two whose hearts beat freely in a cadence-echoed sound
In this cove high on Blood Mountain...love grows on sacred ground.
Very good imagery with the picture to support it, enjoyed.
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on April 5, 2006
Beautifully stated is this "love tree" poetry. To carve a message of true love on such a tree attests to the positive expectations of a life full of happiness. Sometimes, when that happiness is threatened with boredom, inattention, etc., maybe it will behoove these used-to-be-lovers to return to Blood Mountain" and reaffirm their devoation. Good poem to get me started this a.m.
Sweet...I love this and often as I walk in parks and see hearts etched in trees or park benches etc whatever became of the ones who left their promises there for the world to see.
As we say, too often, in the South, "Bless your heart." And six years after you wrote these immortal lines, the scenery is still as expansive, cloud tipping, and gorgeous, as when you gathered your love for our mountains in North Georgia. Your poetry is marvelously well done... not a word misplaced; a keeper for me. - Bill
325 letters my father wrote to my mother during his time in World War II.
Woven together in a timeline of events of three of his brothers, 5 brothers-in-law, and one cousin, all 10 of them were in WWII at the same time.
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Am waitng for a poem how the mountain got its name. 93 graffitti don't do it for me.
Ron
Felix
Love Tinka
Eileen
where I know lovers will dream
and leave their marks behind
Love & Peace
William
You took me there, on the mountain top; glorious imagery and tender emotion in this write; well done!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.