The old man of the mountain, they said
once stood strong and tall.
He was kind and smart and generous,
and welcoming to all.
No one knew his past, his history,
or even his age.
But in fact his story
could fill page after page.
The facts of his life were the only things
that he kept to himself.
All of his stories, carefully written
in a book upon his shelf.

Years ago, when he was young,
he was a different man.
Some even say he was
the first man of the land.
He was so young and full of life
at the beginning of all time.
Some say he saw it all begin,
every season, every reason, every rhyme.

He never really spoke much,
but what he spoke was true.
He knew everything from what makes the sun rise
to what makes the flowers bloom.
He offered shelter and warmth
to anyone in need.
He took care of every crop,
every harvest, every seed.

Very few ever saw him,
and no one knew his name.
Yet everyone knew of him
and they loved him all the same.
As time went on they got used
to the treatment that he gave.
They came and went as they pleased,
treating him like their slave.
Time went on, people changed.
Kingdoms rose and fell.
A time came when the people of the valley
left without a ‘farewell’.

Time has gone on and he has became
like a myth or a fable.
People laugh and joke and sneer,
from the palace to the stable.
And yet, despite it all
he continues on.
He works and works and cares for them all,
working from dusk til dawn.
Legend still says that if you are ever in need
of some kind of help,
all you need do is look up to the mountain
and ask the old man himself.

The old man of the mountain, they said
once stood strong and tall.
He was kind and smart and generous,
and welcoming to all.
No one knew his past, his history,
or even his name…