Nobody rides the Mountain top when Winter's locked her jaws.
The Mountain bears the brunt alone, his shoulders to the claws.
She carves great gashes down his flank like butchers flensing sheep
And howl, you cannot know the word. She never lets him sleep.
And on his peak she wrecks her wrath. He reaches Heaven-bound
But she has placed a crown of ice and turned Hell upside down.
My parka hood is fringed with frost. It's hard to get my wind
I stand hard on the timberline feeling freshly skinned.
The sweat is drippin' down my neck. It's just twenty-two below
I came to tell the Mountain top, "Just three more months to go."
"You're not alone," I shouted to him, "There's others just like you
Who make their stand upon the Earth and see the battle through.
The daily grind to just get by against all Earthly odds
And keep the faith though they might feel forsaken by the gods.
My words are snatched up by the wind and shatter in the air
The Winter scatters spoken broken pieces everywhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment