The Blue Ridge Poem by Gulliver Gimble

I don't know why I long for its name.
Deep rich forest on blue ridges.
Tops of mountains that reach the sky.
Low valley's that hold your bewildering eye's.
Clouds dance over the highest domes.
Mountains that endlessly collide.
Smoke just off the old worn caps.
Old towns trapped in time.
The sound of rolling winds dancing.
Deep blues in every direction.
Autumn's leaves like risky fires.
Fur's, pines and old bantom oaks.
The feeling of final peace and content.
The Blue Ridge.