Up high in the frosted peaks

Where the eagles nest,

Sharp as the hunter

When he peers at

His prey,

Falcons of night but

In the daylight,

where the rivers run

wild and free,

rushing carelessly,

down the

Towering cliffs,

All gray and black, 

Scarred with time and

Memories of ancient battles,

into lakes of ice,

Cracked and 

sooted over, 

Ancestors to which

The rivers now return,

Gushing, uncaring for

The past, only

Thinking of

What’s to come.

Vast forests of green,

Carpets on the floor of

Unforgiving stone,

The nest of life

By the rocky seashore,

And roaring seas,

Ever restless, 

Never sleeping,

Licked and dusted with snow and ice,

remnants from what

once was in 

another time,

show just how small

we really are.