A New Hampshire Vista

by: Donald A. MacCord

No artist brush could capture truely what God had made this day
nor words could give the justice due for what I want to say.
I stood upon the mountain top in awe and wonder too
and filled my heart with a blissful peace felt only by a few.

The sky was filled with myriad hues of gold and blue and green.
The snowcapped peaks reached high above to paint the morning scene
and cast it's purple shadows down where jagged crevaces lie.
And silver streams in hurried pace with angry froth and mist,
raced headlong down their steep inclines to the valley floor below.

The morning sun it's magic played upon the dew down low,
and rising high against the cliffs a swirl of whispy steam
that soon would be as always was Nature's clouds to soon be sowed,
to start the cycle o're again that makes the forest green. 

I turned away as if to leave and heard a lonely cry
I looked back out across the gap at the far side canyon wall
and circling there on golden wings, a eagle on the wind did fly
a testement to all that's true that here was heaven's hall.