I am a mountaim

Who cares about the heights of mountains? Who dares to scale their lofty fountains? For it's not their altitude that truly matters, But the awe and wonder their presence scatters. Who cares about the hue of rocks, Without the sun's light that unlocks? For it's the vibrant glow they reflect, That reveals their beauty, we can't neglect. Who notices the mountain's modesty, Standing tall, yet silent, for all to see? For it's the quiet strength it possesses, That earns respect and admiration, no lesses. Who observes the mountain, untouched, Unfazed by winter's snow or summer's clutch? For it stands firm in its endurance, A symbol of resilience, a powerful assurance. Who notices the wisdom it gains, As it reaches the heights, no restraints? For it holds the secrets of countless years, A source of knowledge, erasing all fears. Who names its generosity, so grand, As it shelters creatures across the land? For it provides a home, a loving embrace, A selfless act, a testament to grace. Who notices its love, pure and true, As it bonds with the earth, its value imbue? For it radiates warmth when needed, Like love's embrace, forever unimpeded. Who knows where the mountains came, Seeing them there, in their eternal frame? Who wonders their age, their ancient birth? They've stood timeless, a marvel on earth. Who doesn't seek the mountains' serene, For their stillness, their peaceful scene? For they understand our mind's needs, Nourishing our hearts, fulfilling our creeds.