At the very peak, the snowy tip,
My mind regresses, my thirsts, they sip,
Upon the nectar, wisdom true,
Songs forever, skies of blue.
At the top I sit in cold,
Snowy mountain, thou art old.
Standing up, high as might,
In the valley, moonlight night.
The brook it bends, and softly flows,
Through the trees, on grounds below.
Nature rests, in the black,
The dark of night, their prey attack.
Bellies full they scratch and roar,
As the mountain rests and sleeps and snores.