Mountain girl

Through the glass rectangular
One could see upto that far
Where the lean asphalt disappeared
Into the woods of lovely deodars...
And with two coffee mugs striking red
Which all the time warm cozy feels breathed
I by that glass for my mountain girl did wait...

My mountain girl...who would every morn come
With flowery songs woven on her white cardigan...
She would come slow penetrating the haze
Of the foggy pines where time a few minutes delayed...
She would walk slow past the churchyard calm
She would arrive with smell of just risen sun...
Pure white as new born babies smile
She would come crossing a score and half postmiles...
The moment I would see her face
On my mind only poems would surface...
I would pour hot dark liquid into mugs...
Waiting still to be caught in her hugs...
Then closing in when the screen got wide
I would see in her hand a bunch of flowers blue and white
Wrought simply by a thin twine
How spread all the sweetness of love mine...

I would go quick to open the door
To let in the morn so white and pure...
She would smile and hug me tight
And thus my mountain girl would inspire light...
In me to throw away all the dark...
And I would thus be reborn
By my mountain girl every morn...