The Alps may shine with gentle grace,
Their snowy peaks, a soft embrace.
They charm with trails and alpine song,
Where skis and meadows both belong.
But eastward where the sun ascends,
The land of gods and skyward bends—
There rise the Himalayas bold,
In heights where even legends fold.
Mount Everest, the crown of Earth,
Was born of fire and titan’s birth.
Its silence roars, its presence speaks,
Of monks, of myths, and snow-blind peaks.
The Alps wear crowns of emerald green,
Where rivers dance and forests preen.
They whisper tales in village bells,
And rustic lore their spirit tells.
Yet Himalayas hold the skies,
With peaks that pierce where eagle flies.
Their glaciers guard the ancient lore,
Of silent truths and legends more.
Where snowstorms rage with fierce delight,
And stars blaze down through endless night,
The mountains stand in primal grace—
A timeless, sacred, mighty place.
The Alps may sing in softer tunes,
Of sunny slopes and bright balloons,
But Himalayas roar profound,
With earth’s raw heart and thunderous sound.
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