She lies in stately repose
formed of ancient stone
and so alone
a dream like state upon her face
and so she waits
unruffled by rain heat or sleet
and so she sleeps
the clouds do softly brush her brow
so does the morning dew
will she awake
or will she sleep on.
The mountain is hushed
for the sleeping lady
as day turns into night
the mist rolls in
and enfolds her in its arms
like a cocoon
but does she dream the dreams
of long ago
that hold the escence of our past
but soon the last trumpet will blow
and she will know
as the age of enlightenment
awakes her

By Ulla Ellen Egal