A thin curtain of mist Covers the farthest mountain.
As if trying to hide, to protect,
The mysteries of the unexplored.
It’s silhouette is still, as if unaffected,
By the busy surrounding.
Slumbering.
It’s greatness leaves you in awe.
And it’s silence makes the beating of The heart profound.
So, I guess the mountains wait.
Waiting, for the command of their Lord.
To break their silence and Serve Him.
To narrate what they’ve watched, While we thought they did not.
The curtain of mist will then fall, Revealing the power and might, Of every mountain in our paths.
Till the farthest one of them all.
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