The Hills by Merlin Thomas Kadavan

              THE HILLS
Thou art a monster to a child,
To a traveller you are the journey's end,
You are the grace lands where herds abide,
A stage for the birds to sing to the world,
And the plants on you are the audience.
You seem to cry when it rains,             
You  feel bored when the sun shines on you,
You are happy when the wind sails,
A place of merriment we've made of you,
Your very sight is an inspiration of patience.

Why have you grown so tall?
Why do you invite us to your land so great? 
Is it to see heaven and tell us of it all?
You seem to conceal a great secret,
And we hope to be told of that great mystery.

You witness thousands of generation,
And convey little facts to the new generation.


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