The Beauty of Sorrow (The I-89 and the Green Mountain Blues)

Mists rolling down mountain tops,
softening their grandeur;
Clouds glazing the skies,
confusing their clarity;

A heavy sky keeps weeping
tears of a passing summer-
A summer of trials,
A summer of learnings,
A summer of inner endings.

And now the changing leaves
Speak of a new season approaching-
A new cycle beginning,
A new hope, a new me.