I live near mountains.

They are dark, and cold, and green, and purple, and blue.
I love them.

I do not know whether the mountains love me back.
I do no know if the mountains feel as humans feel.
If they did, would they not grieve?

I look up at the mountains and think I see Elves.
I see men and Hobbits.
The Goblins chase and harm them.

 They kill them.

I want to be a mountain.
For mountains do not move.
They are old, and their roots live deep within the earth.

I see the forests which use the mountains as a solid ground
and I yearn to be solid for others.

But I can never be a mountain.
I can never feel the trees as they grow,
Nor listen to the brook as it flows down my side,
Nor taste the cool air high above the valleys,
Nor smell the clean nights framed in dying sunlight.

I live near mountains. 


The End

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