The Mountain Tree
A Poem

Upon the mountain’s quiet crest,
A lone tree stands, in silence dressed,
Its roots embrace the rugged stone,
A timeless strength the winds have known.
I climb the path where shadows play,
And rest beneath its arms of gray,
The evening sun in golden streams
Unfolds the world in painted dreams.
The grass blades bow, in breezes light,
They sway and dance till fades the night,
While birdsong threads the cooling air,
A gentle hymn, both soft and rare.
Clouds drift by in colors deep,
Like wandering souls that never sleep,
And in that shade, my heart is free,
To dream, to hope—like that mountain tree.

It whispers low: Stand tall, endure,
Through storms and trials, grow strong, grow pure,
And as the sunset crowns the sky,
I find my wings, I learn to fly.