Is it up the misty mountain
Where wild flowers bind the ground?
Is it down by the rushing river
Where force wears those boulders down?
Is it up above the misty mountain
Where the eagle takes the wind?
High above the sea I stand,
with twelve apostles in my hand,
I’m the guardian of this Mother Land,
home of the unsung songs.
Covered with clouds and mist,
I transcend and glow, colors of sunlight bliss –
Golden red, purple and maroon,
I am the gateway to the Seven Sister moon.
no comments
no comments