Below The View Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Mountains higher than a man can dream, bigger than his ingenuity.
What a task it is to the mountain climber when he scales those great rocks.
How serene the countryside must look from up so high - with hardly a person seen walking with the naked eye.
Green and rolling, those little fields of clover; smoke escaping chimneys, curling around the sky.
Good thing we can't see what's below the view when escaping the world and all it's fears and troubles.
Climbing gets rid of such a lot of bubbling, corroding feelings and is a good thing for us to do.
Birds fly over your head and scream - because you have invaded their hidden little world.
Tucked away from the maddening crowds, they lived without fear of human beings.
Now, all in one day, their private little nests of gold have been revealed.