The contour of the mountain is shaded cedar green, and gives all a view so quiet and serene.
Along the edge and mingled through are trees yet bare, with upward bows, reaching to the air.
Along the shore a lake that chatters, with none concern of worldly matters.
At lake and mountain edge is placed a rocky frame, and in your mind deep embedded, that you will never be the same.
Still up through the mountain brown floor, are redbud and dogwood, for your mind to adore.
The ducks afloat quack and dive, and a hawk over head, shreaks in pride, to be alive.
A crow caws loudly across the lake; this place is God's, make no mistake.
What a sad old world this place would be, if God gave love to only me.
God gives His love to all that bow, and I feel His presence, even now.
Written by Bob Wood
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