The Mountains Poem by David Welch

The mountains roll, the mountains ride,
they cut a swath across the sky;
the mountains rise, the mountains drop,
if dirt gets going, it don't stop;
the mountains loom, the mountains bock,
amongst their valleys, you are locked;
the mountains breathe, the mountains blow,
funnel storms to the lands below;
the mountains gleam, the mountains stun,
and glow within the morning sun;
the mountains crack, the mountains church,
when beneath them earth's fires burn;
the mountains chill, the mountains freeze,
critters come down to seek relief;
the mountains stand, the mountains stay...
for this man's lifetime, anyway.