Mountains rise daunting, their peaks kissed by snow,
a testament standing where the fierce winds do blow.
They cradle the valleys in steadfast embrace,
a sanctuary forged in the rough of their grace.

As the seasons do pass, and the rivers do wend,
it’s a cycle undying, no beginning no end.
In the grandeur of nature, a power we seek,
to understand our place in this silence, so sleek.

• Émile Zola