Islands In The Sky Poem by Anthony Foster

It was misty and white that Christmas morning,
As we started our climb through the forest,
The dripping green moss scented pines pervading,
Our deepest senses as we walked.

Then through the white of secret mist,
Came the ray of sunshine,
Up the valley rolled as soft as cotton,
The clouds on this Christmas morn so fine,

When our senses were adjusted,
To this panoramic view,
The mountains had become just Islands,
Against the etheral blue.