Alone he stood- The lone mountain. Tall and bald, So hard and grey. A tree or two, Sprung up too, But they did burn, In the fiery sun.
Those greenish days, Were long gone by. When the clouds in grey, Showed some love. He longed for them, He loved them deep. They did hug him, And kissed him lot. Their play was wild- It thundered loud, And lit up bright.
Seasons came and Seasons changed. And so did, The love of clouds.
But his love, Altered not- Grew stronger, Day by day. The green paved way , To all grey, Which grew deep, With his love, For them grey clouds.
He has grown So old and cold. He can sense All pain and vain. He grew so wise But on his knees. He waited long, For mercy of love. He waited long , For love from above. But none happened. No wind and rain, Came his way. They all did, Leave him out.
He can’t move, For a mountain- he is He will wait, And bear all plights. He has no choice, And has no voice. Thus he is A lone mountain. His weary soul, Dried up and broken, Closed his eyes, For even a tint of green.