The winds flow down the mountain edge
Pushing the mist back from the peak
Human flesh is weak, fragile, soft
As a wanderer attempts to seek
The answers of life without secrets
A walk down leads to a desire for sleep
And in sleep there is only a gateway
To discovering the power of dream
“The mountain veiled in mist is not a hill; an
oak tree in the rain is not a weeping willow.” Khalil Gibran
