The mountains stand tall, In their blankets of white, Guardians enchanted, With wisdom and light, From their quiet towers, Where the eagles soar, They whisper of secrets, Of an ancient lore.

So still, I am grateful, In their patience I learn, To bend like the grasses, Where waters will turn, With each breath I take, I intertwine more, With the pulse of the earth, And the lessons they score.

• Henry David Thoreau