We were of the mountain
As far as any flesh can be when flesh is weak and soft
And so imperfect in its subtleties.
The valley takes no shelter here
When we are sand and stone
Formed by the world over; we are not our own.

You can't fight this finality - I can,
But it takes its toll on me as the rivers line my face
And I feel the sea and the moon in their dance.
The Earth adjusts itself to this
And I understand what it means;
That creators are destroyers of the in-betweens.

I see no violent turn in the paths we take,
Just the gentle shift that time will make.