Stories unrushed

But the mountain, oh, it knows no rush,

Unmoved by winds or the sun’s sharp rays,

It speaks in shadows, in whispers hush—

Its stories carved in ancient days.

And here I linger, caught between,

In the quiet gulf, in the shadow’s grace,

Part of both and all unseen,

One heart, one mind, one nameless face.

Between the mountain’s calm embrace,

And the multitude’s fervent, yearning heat,

I hold both worlds within my space,

Rooted strong and endlessly fleet.