Ah, such was not to be. I should have known.
The mountain crumbles slowly over time.
The vegetation which has gaily grown
Over the bare rock begins to slowly climb
Into the little fissures, and displace
What held the stone together. Everything
Just wilts away, and leaves the mountain face
Broken but not quite lifeless. In the spring
It will be beautiful, but differently;
The majesty and grandeur is all gone,
Replaced, it it's replacement, by a sea
Of waste fertility, whose wild spawn
A terribly beautiful. No height
Can hold its ground in such an unfair fight.
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