In the deep mountains—why there is so cold!
From of old it is so—not just last years.
The piled up peaks are constantly clotted with snow;
Secluded forest every day spews out thick mist. . .
All grasses here start only to grow
After the 'bearded grain' season in late June,
But leaves come down even before
The beginning of fall. Up here is a wanderer
Who has hopelessly lost his way and who,
Staring into the distance, can see nothing thru the air.
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Ron