There is water under the mountains,
A stream hidden in the dark.
Misty or perhaps scorchingly dry
But there lives a stream.
There is a fossil under the mountains,
A long time ago, since when?
Hidden or sealed until eternity
But there lives someone’s ancestor.
There is gold under the mountains,
Too deep to find, too dark to explore.
Its value nobody to assess
But there lives a precious stone.
There is a community under the mountains,
Forgotten or never found.
Mysterious and veiled by our great
Trigonic stature, whose bed shifts
Not one bit, as they say.
But there is too much under the mountains,
Too mystical or too dull.
The hidden side is too poor to be left
Under the mountains.
Coming from the questions of for whom I would move mountains for.