I was born many centuries ago
Thanks to a violent upheaval
Of the Earth’s innards.
Through the years, without flinching,
I have stood my ground
Braving scorching heat, pouring rain
And the abrasive effects of wind.
I sport a healthy mane of green sometimes,
At other times I am barren and dusty;
Sometimes I radiate heat,
At other times I bathe luxuriously,
The water flowing down my sides
In torrents that humans call “waterfalls”
Many years ago I saw in the distant valley
A settlement these humans called a town.
As the years went by
It overflowed and started expanding
Gradually covering the distance between the town and me.
They built a road to go beyond me to another “town”,
Bringing huge vehicles that emitted black smoke and soot.
Then they started building at my foot.
Not satisfied with that, they started building on my side,
Taking rocks and stones broken from my other side.
Soon I may not even exist
Having been broken down to build these very homes.
I have heard humans use the term “Over the hill”
For something that is on the decline or rapidly dying.
I think in my case
It would be appropriate to say,
“Over. The Hill.”
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A poem from a hill... very interesting. I liked the observations.
...Michael