This is an Easter poem I wrote as a student at Young Harris College about 1962. Sunsets and sunrises in the mountains were always breathtaking as were the season changes. One of my fondest memories is that of half our student body climbing Brasstown Bald to have a special vespers service at sunset one day. But sunsets and sunrises, wherever we enjoy them, are a testimony to the eternal hope God freely gives.
The sun is setting red flames in the sky;
A minute more they will fade, then die.
Clouds blackwinging scatter the glow;
Separate embers light a river’s dark flow.
Wind rises fatefully stirring the trees
Like dry-boned skeletons hung in the breeze.
Mountains are clad in quiet mourning;
A night owl screeches as if in scorning.
Time shows in the east a soft red lining.
See its splendour climbing, shining!
The sky is filled with glad new light
Like the old that died last night.
As dawn after dark, hope survives pain,
For a time buried, then rising again.
Bird songs explode from forest to bay,
And I must sing, too, this Easter Day.