A ribbon of grey, a stubborn line, Where nature's wildness and order entwine. The mountain's rough edge, a craggy brow, Looks down on the wall, and wonders how. A wall of concrete, stark and cold, A barrier raised, a story told. Of human hands that sought to tame, To channel the flow, to conquer the game. The ditch at its foot, a narrow groove,
Where water trickles, and secrets move. A thin, damp thread, a silent stream, Reflecting the sky, a fleeting dream. The wall, stained and marked, with time's slow hand, A tapestry woven, across the land.
Patches of darkness, where shadows creep, A history whispered, secrets to keep.
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A flash of red, a marker's bright hue, A sign of intent, a task to pursue.
A contrast so sharp, against the grey, A human touch, in a desolate way. The mountain looms, a backdrop grand, Its slopes untouched, by human command. Green whispers rise, from rugged terrain, A symphony wild, a natural refrain. The wall stands firm, a rigid divide,
Between the tamed path, and the untamed stride. A testament to will, a concrete decree, Yet nature's vastness, forever runs free.
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A silent witness, where two worlds meet. Oh, wall of concrete, what tales you hold, Of labor and toil, and stories untold. Of water diverted, and pathways defined, A human ambition, in stone enshrined. Yet nature persists, in its ancient might, The mountain stands tall, in sun and in night. Its weathered face, a timeless gaze, On the concrete divide, and the passing days.
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