Wild Rose Mountain

Ken J. McLeod ©

I came here to climb this mountain they call Wild Rose,
Far up her flanks I found myself mumbling prose.
Upon the glacier I place my hardy crampon boots,
My breath now like notes puffed from flutes.

Onward I climb to the top of the summit,
Where everything is steep and white I fear to plummet.
Then, within me comes the voice,
You made it , you did it, was there really any choice?

Spurred to the top or lured there I know not,
Conquest but bitten by love from the mountain I fought.
And when the shadows begin to fall and the sun casts its
red glow upon her shoulders,
I am hopelessly in love with her here amongst the snow
and craggy boulders.

Like that of a red-haired princess: eloquent, pure and soft,
Grabbing at me here from the heights of the summit loft.
Alas, I walk thru life in love even though she is froze,
She is a beautiful mountain the one they call . . .
Wild Rose.....

KJM
2001
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