The Stoic Hills

The mighty mountains
Silent and still
Unwavering in the
Temperamental wind

Standing, not stagnating
Calm, not resigned
Reaching up to the skies
Without any fancy designs

The moving wind
Carrying the flaky clouds
That caress and kiss
Wrapping seductively around

Their attentiveness
Intense but brief
Soon to be gone
Seen off without grief

Up and down
The river flows
Lumbering and weaving
Touching its core

The same and yet not so
Rushing through
To make its way
To farther shores

The hills watch
Silent and withdrawn
Allowing passage
Watching it go, unmourned

Coming and going
It observes unmoved
Waiting patiently
For its own time to go

Undying and eternal
Although it may seem
When it crumbles
How many see?

Will it fear
Its time of death
Cry out for mercy
Or just drop its breath?

To be stoic and
Yet remain untouched
To watch and accept
And go with no regrets.