Mountain-Fall

The mountainside, thronged with cloud

The sun shining down,

Its bastioned edges thrust,

High into the sky.

Its fickle turns of coat,

Its picture-perfect smile,

Its many-pillared halls,

All turned upside and down.

Oh to be a mountain,

Carefree and resolute,

It fears none save itself,

For in itself is its own fiery death.