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Poem

The airy mountain, lush and green, they call home
Perched on shaky rock, the waters beneath swash and foam
Goats graze, cattle feed, fields of corn and wheat they comb

Stored in the belly of the hefty hill
The harvest, food for all, food to fill
Spring is here, they forget the winter chill

Swimming in the mountain stream, singing of selfish praise
Not a worried eye to be seen, to the sky a glass they raise
Foolish people dance and scream, their minds muddled, their hearts ablaze

Through the earthen caverns they wander
Wealth and fortune they do squander
They do not think, they do not ponder

What a waste these people brought
No knowledge gained, no answers sought
Squabbles grow more and more, 'ore the land they fought

Blood spilled, turning the mountain red
The rocks toppled, the peak lost its head
Waste away they do, no stopping 'till they're dead.

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