Poemetry: Mountainside

Amongst the crags, where nary a grass grows,

what I sought scarce I shall ever know,

my eyes beheld many a restful place

basking in the trail and mountain face.

A mountain goat dancing rock to rock was first

and entertained my eyes for a time,

but wearied saw the beast not best but worst

for each falsen step and guileful climb.

Flowers blue and white, five by five spangled

in ordered beauty, beset my mind with light,

but the blossoms were choked and tangled,

strangled by weeds and thistles twisting tight.

 At last, I saw the mount, and my search, cease.

The peak rose mighty in still, silent peace.

 I worshiped there with the clouds crowding it,

one with the zeph’rous host, turning to sit

for a time. Every morn since, every morn

yet to come, finds it by my mind reborn.

And on that day when I can count no more,

I shall see again that peak I adore.

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