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White down

White down
so high
and yet so lowly, soft,
your flecks of light
where brown turf darkens
damp,

so innocently growing
'spite the weather,
torn clouds,
against the blue or grey,

beside you green of moss
stone, heather,
grasses, hay,

not lauded
given honours like the rose
but there the mountain knows
your sweet repose.

Last few words: 
I possibly cannot see yet what you write as computer in trouble. Cotton grass is so lovely up in the mountains. Ann
Editing stage: 

Comments

That's why I could write about those little cotton wool-like soft tufts of down growing often on the cracked brown earth shivering in the breezes.

I love them, their sight is always with me whenever I wish to dial it up. Like Britain, it too is here inside me. Love to you Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

SO GREAT TO SEE YOUR NAME ON HERE TODAY

Yes I am shouting - smile

Nice to read you and hope you get the computer up and running. Missed reading you. Welcome back friend - snow lady of Norway.

Love and Hugs
Mona

This is beautiful. wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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The calm I was looking for this chaotic morning. A tranquil piece.

.

J.A. Fisher

And here I was thinking you were writing about a type of white frost flower. I expect you have accurately described the cotton flowers as they bloom in the mountains.............stan

what cotten grass or flowers are, but I have seen little white puffy flowers on long grass like stems and I think that is what they may be. As always, you have made a beautiful picture in my mind of brilliant blue sky and wind torn clouds behind grey and brown mountains. I can almost feel the wind! ~ Love to my queen, ~ Sir Gee

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Hi Ann, what a treat both you and Jayne-Chloe revisiting Neo on the same day.

the mountain laurel
sways
holds the wind at bay

~

So nice to see you again! Love the imagery of this piece!

always, Cat

When you fling poo, some of the stink sticks to you!

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Thank you all, I am not actively back much, but still around, I have to use another computer as mine is playing up damn it!

..This is just the time for a walk in the mountains to enjoy the sight of
MYRULL
 
Kvite dun
så høgt på strå
og likevel så kravlaus, mjuk.
 
Lysa dine logar
der torva mørknar
fuktig, brun.
 
Du veks uskuldig, rein
trass uvêr,
rivne skyer
mot det blå og grå.
 
Ved sida di er grøne mosen,
stein, lyng,
vier, gras.
 
Ikkje lovprisa
eller gjeve hedersteikn, som rosa bar;
men fjellet kjenner til
din vakre kvilestad.
 
             M. A. Waddicor
 
             Gjendikting: Åse Lilleskare Faugstad

I know you won't be able to read it but 'quand même' luvAnn.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

just lovely annanya
- nothing to crit

- so peaceful...
'not lauded
given honours like the rose
but there the mountain knows
your sweet repose.'

love judyanne

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

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