For the mountains are tall,
Where I feel so small.
The Rocks have faces,
Inscribed in places.
A jagged stone atop a hill,
Colour it changes with a beautiful spill.
Passing by a wall of grey,
Inhuman faces lie inlay.
Carved from old?
Its a wonder in play.
Still in time?
Day after day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem