Gallery 4

Purple Mountains


The first time I climbed
To the mountain tops,
And for many ascents thereafter,
I would turn so often
For expectant stops
And anticipate my laughter.

What joy it was
This oxygen buzz
As I hiked every mountain neighbor.
I would look on and, lo,
The valley below,
Tiny art, would make more from my labor.

Or so I forethought.
This to be it ought
Each station a new creation,
But the increment small
Showed bare change at all,
‘Til mere top was a modest revelation.

I knew to get through
To the mountain top
With unsullied expectation
I must bow my brow
To the task, to the path,
Forego my gratification.

Only at the top
Do I turn around
Speechless at new found elation.
With my eye I descry
Through cloud scudding sky
What looks like another nation.

Purple serried ranks
In starburst rows,
White capped monsters lurching.
The wrinkled haunches
Give away the blows
That set peak onto peak, perching.

Now my view
From the highest pew
Is delayed ‘til I feel it’s new.