Friday Poem:Grampians

I’ve gone into the back catalog for my poem today, but the photos are fresh from this afternoon. We glimpsed spectacular cloud hanging over the mountains as we drove home, so I pulled the phone/camera out of my pocket and shot through the rainy windscreen.Gramps crop

Little, old mountains,
Ancient bones of an ancient land
Lie sprawled across the boundary of the plains;
Jagged and crumbling peaks
Are cloaked in vegetation
Scarcely younger than the rocks themselves.
The ancient crone
Hugs secrets to her breast.