Mountain High
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Who cares about?
the height of the mountains?
Who would care to scale it?
Who cares about?
the color of the rocks,
without the sun light
to reflect from it?
Who notices its modesty,
standing tall, but silent of itself?
Who observes that mountain?
remains unaffected,
not pained by winter snow,
not pleased by summer glow?
Who notices its wisdom,
attaining the heights of perfection?
Who names its generosity,
among the elks, the birds,
the animals who make it home?
Who notices its love?
It bonds with earth,
It radiates warmth when needed,
as love does.
Who knows where the mountains came from?
seeing it there?
Who wonders how old that mountain is?
It has been ageless for years.
Who does not go to seek it,
for its stillness, for its silence,
as if it understands the mind’s needs,
the heart’s nourishment?
Copyright © Jay Narain | Year Posted 2023
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